


What It Takes

by CrimzonChyld



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Additional Warnings In Author's Note When Applicable, Adult Content, Big Brother Dean, Bonding, Brother Feels, Brotherly Affection, Cabin Fic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Graphic Rape Depiction, Hospitalization, Hunting, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Impala, Incest, M/M, Male Slash, Massage, Mild Sexual Content, Morning Cuddles, Naked Cuddling, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Overprotective Dean Winchester, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Possessive Dean Winchester, Post-Coital Cuddling, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con References, References to Incest, Resolved Sexual Tension, Season/Series 02, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Sick Sam Winchester, Slash, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut, Snowball Fight, Swearing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wincest - Freeform, fear of the dark, rape flashbacks, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 101,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimzonChyld/pseuds/CrimzonChyld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>What does it take to break you?  What does it take to save you?</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>Takes place in Season 2, after John dies, before cold oaks.</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>Rape/Non-con, hurt/comfort</p>
</div><div class="center"><p></p><div class="center"><p>(I have had many people say they don't usually read non-con but took a chance on this and are happy they did so, why not?  Take a chance.  What have you got to lose?)</p></div>Includes Wincest and eventual higher rating.</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <img/>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div>Banner by: Reggie11 at LiveJournal
            </blockquote>





	1. I Must Not Break

**Author's Note:**

> **Okay, so I've only ever gotten one review on here so either I suck, my writing is unremarkable or people are shy. But really, I live for reviews, so I would be ever so happy if you would leave me some.**   
>  **But this is an old story that people love because Sam is oh so much fun to hurt and we all love protective Dean.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Sam stared at the convenience store shelf. Specifically, he stared at the box of feminine napkins sitting among the toilet paper, toothpaste, bars of soap and other essentials for traveling patrons on the go. Glancing nervously around he caught his reflection in the cooler door and noted how he looked like a deer caught in headlights, which is exactly how he felt at the moment. Sam took a deep breath, turning his attention to the shelf again.

He could do this . . . he could. He'd done it for Jess a couple of times. Sam had kind of suspected that was some sort of boyfriend test. Like a "How awesome is your boyfriend?" test and not a "How whipped is your boyfriend?" test. After all, how can you say no to the woman you loved when she was curled up in bed clutching a bottle of Pamprin? Pamprin, yeah he'd bought those too, that's how he could remember the name.

Sam knew that he was only having these thoughts to distract himself. Now he was just stalling. His eyes darted over the low shelf and he gazed out the window. Dean was getting back into the Impala, the late afternoon sun glinting off the roof. Sam knew he couldn't wait any longer. He had to pay and do it quickly because he still needed to use the restroom. If he waited much longer, Dean might come in after him and how would he explain staring at feminine products? Not that Dean would assume that's what he was staring at but Sam's mind wasn't exactly producing the most lucid thoughts. The only perpetual cohesive musing was _act normal . . . don't raise suspicion . . . Dean can't find out._

Sam's huge hand reached out and snagged the smaller box of pantyliners off the shelf then he rushed up to the cash register. He let the contents of his arm tumble onto the counter before telling the clerk which pump number he needed to pay for, even though the Impala was the only car in the lot and Sam was the only customer. However, he kept feeling as though he was being stared at. Like the place was full of patrons and every last one of them was watching him. The clerk looked mildly annoyed but didn't glance up from ringing up his items and sliding them into a bag, not even pausing when he reached the pantyliners. Still, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that people were looking at him, just gawking at him and _knowing_.

When he finally paid Sam gratefully headed for the restroom. Once inside he yanked his jeans and briefs down and tried to lower himself gently on the toilet seat but winced anyway when he finally got situated. He bit back a groan when he saw the state of the wad of toilet paper he had stuck in his briefs the last time they stopped. It was almost soaked through with blood. At the last stop he thought the bleeding had at least slowed, though, he conceded that the wounds could have reopened between then and now. Admittedly, the wad of paper wasn't big but there was enough blood to make Sam wonder if it was possible to bleed to death this way, rational thought again, not being his strong point today. So he thought maybe that's why he was feeling dizzy and not because he hadn't slept in over twenty four hours. Nor had he eaten in nearly as long.

Sam tore open the pantyliner box and quickly plastered three liners side by side over the small bloodstain in his briefs. Then he pulled out the rest of the liners, the box was small and their weren't many, and stuffed them in the pockets of his jeans before he tossed box into the overflowing garbage can.

He hunched over the sink and after fighting off a wave of nauseousness, he scrubbed his hands before splashing water on his face. Sam wanted another shower, he couldn't escape the feeling that he was covered in a layer of dirt. It stuck to his skin and seeped into his pores. He stared at his reflection in the mirror bolted to the wall above the sink. He looked like hell but then that wasn't too unusual after a hunt. Sam touched the bruise under his left eye and felt grateful that Dean had bought his story about being jumped by a couple of guys last night, more of a half truth really.

_Dean . . ._

He snatched up the plastic bag he'd left by the door and hurried out of the bathroom, out of the store and to the Impala. In his haste he forgot himself and sat down too quickly and much too hard. Fortunately for Sam, Dean had the radio blasting so his hiss of pain went unnoticed. Sam reached out and turned down the radio with his usual air of irritability.

"The hell took you so long?" Dean groused as snatched the bag from him and rummaged through it.

Sam sighed and turned to look out the window, wrapping his arms around himself. It had already been a long drive and looked like it was just going to get longer.

***S*S*S***

"Next cafe I see we're getting some real food." Dean announced around a mouth full of Snickers.

They had been driving for about an hour and Sam looked at him startled, "Why?" He asked, noticing he sounded alarmed, maybe even a little panicked and made himself calm down before continuing. "Why can't we just get some drive through or something?"

"I said _real_ food, Sammy," Dean rolled his eyes, "not anymore of that drive through crap. We had it for breakfast and lunch. I'd like to get a halfway decent meal before finding a place to stop for the night."

Taking a deep breath, Sam crossed his arms. "Fine."

Sam sulked and tried to reason with himself that it really was fine. They were now an entire state away from the town where "it" happened. He wouldn't have to worry about somehow running into "them". Still, the thought of being in a diner, out in the open, exposed, it made him uneasy. He really just wanted to find a motel and stay inside for the rest of the night. Inside, where it was safe, even if they had to stay in the car it would be safe. And fuck if he didn't need more painkillers. Sam was hurting and he had taken some pills a few hours ago claiming a headache but it felt like they were wearing off. He didn't think he could chance taking more or anything stronger without rousing suspicion, even with the story of being jumped.

"Geez Sam," Dean grumbled, "what crawled up your ass and died?"

" _What?_ " It was only the fact that the muscles in Sam's throat constricted that the word didn't come out as an outright shriek. Instead, it came out as a strangled sounding squeak.

Glancing sidelong at him, Dean said, "You've been acting extra emo all day, dude."

Sam shook his head turning back to the window. "I . . . I've just been tired."

"Not too tired to fight tooth and nail over the diner this morning," Dean scoffed.

"Their food gave me diarrhea yesterday," Sam shrugged.

"Uh-huh," Dean snorted. "And not stopping this afternoon?"

Sam chewed on his lower lip, "We were making good time."

"Riiight," Dean drawled. "Do you even remember where we're going? Or why?"

"Possible haunting in 'random town' Massachusetts." Sam recited dully.

"Cute," said Dean irritably.

It was quiet for a few beats before Dean started, "Look if it's about what happened last night-"

"I'm _fine_ ," Sam snapped, "I can take care of myself, Dean."

"That's right," Dean agreed, "you can. Doesn't matter if they caught you off guard, what's important-"

"Dean," Sam cut him off, drawing out his name in a not-quite-pleading tone.

Dean held up a hand, "I'm just sayin' you're the one who always want to do all that pansy 'let's talk about our feelings' crap so . . ."

"God, dude, just shut up already," growled Sam.

Dean head swiveled toward his brother with an incredulous look, "Dude! What the fuck is your problem?"

"Nothing," Sam gritted out. "Just - I'm tired, I don't feel like talking, I just want to sit here and stare out the window, is that okay?" Sam was nearly shouting by the end of his sentence.

Heaving a sigh, Dean mumbled, "Whatever you say . . . bitch."

_Such a pretty little bitch . . ._

Squeezing his eyes shut Sam choked out a quiet, "Jerk."

Dean turned up the radio without further comment. Sam opened his eyes long enough to glare at him before letting his head fall against the window, closing his eyes in defeat. He was much too exhausted to continue arguing. He wasn't even angry at Dean but he knew that if they continued to squabble then eventually Sam would end up telling Dean what really transpired the night before. That was _not_ going to happened, not if Sam had any say in the matter.


	2. When The Levee Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> 
> 
> Banner by:Reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Nothing like a cliffhanger to get people talking.**   
> **Kudos are sweet.**   
> **Reviews are sugar.**   
> **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean was trying to keep his eyes on the road but his eyes kept sliding over to Sam's sleeping form. Not ten minutes after bickering with Dean (like and old married couple as Bobby would say) Sam had fallen asleep. Dean wouldn't have bothered keeping an eye on him if it weren't for the fact he was leaning against the door. Wouldn't it be just like Sam to fall out of the car and onto the asphalt while Dean was doing 80? Maybe Sam wasn't in that much danger, at this point, he had manage to scoot so far sideways he was practically laying down (a feet that he considered amazing given Sam's size). It didn't look very comfortable, his legs were still off the seat and his head was propped and an odd angle. Still, Dean really needn't concern himself.

Except . . .

Well, Dean wasn't stupid or blind. Something was wrong with with his brother. Something had been wrong with Sam since the moment they had gotten up that morning. Sam looked like he hadn't slept the night before. Sitting on the edge of the motel bed, clutching a change of clothes he looked exhausted, a little pale and truthfully, a bit dazed. Dean was about to say something then noticed the bruise under Sam's eye. When Dean asked him how it happened, first Sam claimed he walked into a pole.

_*s*s*s*_

_Dean snorted in disbelief. "Really? A pole?"_

_He reached out and took a hold of Sam's chin, tilting it up and to the side to get a better look. Sam immediately jerked his head out of his startled brother's grasp._

_"Alright, so a couple of guys jumped me last night when I left the bar." Sam mumbled, "I'm okay, no big deal."_

_"Wait," Dean furrowed his brow, "you were jumped? Dude, are you serious?"_

_"Yeah," said Sam quietly, holding his clothes tighter to his chest._

_"What the hell happened," demanded Dean. "Are you sure you're-"_

_Sam shot to his feet, his jaw clenched, " **Nothing** happened." He skirted around his older brother, "I took care of it." He quickly slipped into the bathroom._

_"Sam-" Dean was cut off by the bathroom door slamming shut._

_*s*s*s*_

Dean wasn't certain how true the story was. That Sam was looking at the carpet the entire time he spoke didn't help matters any. In fact, Sam hadn't made eye contact with him all day. Dean didn't really think about it at the time. Sam successfully distracted him with an argument about not going to the diner for breakfast. As the day progressed, however, it became more apparent that something was really off. Sam's bizarre urging to keep driving through lunch. His peculiar attitude the first time they stopped for gas. Sam had only gotten out of the car after Dean threatened to physically drag him out. Dean's demand to "go and pay for the gas, bitch" wasn't met with Sam's usual "jerk" remark, instead he'd turned a lighter shade of pale. Though he'd scurried into the station so quickly after that, Dean thought, or maybe hoped, that he had imagined it.

Then there was his brother's entire body language. Sam had kept his arms wrapped around himself, gripping the sleeves of his sweatshirt in his fists, huddling up against the opposite side of the car. It was odd seeing some one so gargantuan looking so small.

Nothing though, was more disconcerting than the silence.

That's what unnerved Dean the most, how quiet Sam was being. None of his usual prattle, not even his usual complaints. He just sat quietly, hunched up next to the window, staring out without seeming to really see anything. At first, Dean tried to dismiss it as Sam being his usual emo self. Probably thinking about Jess . . . or Dad . . . or problems in the middle east . . . or abandoned puppies - hell, who knows? Even if he knew all there was to know about Sam, it didn't mean he always understood it.

Although honestly, in all their years growing up together, Dean had never seen his little brother act this way. He was more than a little disturbed by it. Every time he would directly ask Sam what was going on, Sam would divert him with another argument then he'd shut down again, refusing to talk at all. So, Dean decided to let it go . . . at least for while he was driving. He didn't know if forcing whatever was bugging Sam out of him would wind up in a screaming match and he didn't want to end up wrapping his baby around a tree. When he got a room for the night, he was going to get to the bottom of this, come hell or high water.

Sam shifted, mumbled, then shivered slightly before falling silent again. Dean snagged Sam's jacket that was hanging off the back of the seat between them. Leaning over he managed to keep one hand on the wheel while simultaneously covering his brother with the other. When Sam's shoulders were covered by the jacket, the edges tucked in around him, Dean gave his handy work a nod.

"I got skills," he said softly, turning his attention back the the road.

***S*S*S***

Not long past dark Dean pulled up to a diner just inside the limits of a modest city. None too soon in his opinion, Sam's occasional shifting had led him to sliding even further down until Sam's ass was snugged against Dean's hip. Not that Dean exactly minded, it was the fact that he didn't mind that left him feeling slightly uncomfortable. Though he reasoned it probably had something to do with the long drive. His brain function was slowing down, he needed food and rest. He needed Sam to spit out what was with him already. Dean closed his hand over the hip of his sleeping brother, giving it a shake.

"Rise and shine, Sammy," he barked.

Sam murmured sleepily, his nose scrunching up.

Dean slapped his hip, "C'mon Sam, chow time."

Without waiting for a response, Dean opened his door and climbed out of the Impala. He glanced around the half filled parking lot allowing himself the luxury of a nice full body stretch. He felt his pockets in an unconscious gesture of checking that he had his wallet on him. When Dean's fingers brushed against his hip, he frowned. It felt a little damp, he looked down at his hand. His frown deepened when he saw the dark red on his finger tips. Looking down at his hip he could see the spot of the red stuff on his pants.

"The hell?" Dean mumbled, his travel fogged brain trying to decipher the meaning behind what he was seeing. Was this blood? Dean struggled for a minute to remember some injury he may have gotten somehow. No, he was fine, he was sure of it. So if it wasn't his blood then how did . . . ? Dean's eyes suddenly widened as understanding finally hit him.

"Sam?" Dean lurched into the open door of the Impala. That's when he saw the dark patch on the seat of Sam's pants. Dean reached up to Sam's shoulders and gave him a sound shake, "Sammy? Sam! Wake up, Sam!"

Sam only moaned softly, his hands coming up, pushing feebly at Dean's chest.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean moved further up until he could frame his younger brother's face between his hands. "Wake up, Sam! C'mon Sammy, open your eyes! _Wake up_."

"Nooooo, " Sam moaned, trying to moved away from Dean's hands. "Don't . . . leggo of me . . ." He tried pushing Dean away again but he didn't open his eyes, Dean fought down his rising panic.

"Is everything okay over there?" A voice from behind him startled Dean and he popped up, hitting his head on the roof of the car.

Scrambling backwards, Dean quickly got to his feet once he was out. The voice belonged to a elderly man with what looked to be his wife standing just a few feet away. They both had looks of concern on their face but the woman's was tinged with fear, the man's with suspicion.

"I - I need - it's my brother," Dean stammered, "please he - can you tell me where the closest hospital is?"

"It's about ten miles east of here," the man replied.

The woman nodded her head toward the road opposite where Dean had drove in from, "The main road will take you there, can't miss it."

Dean nodded his thanks before darting back into the Impala. He fumbled a bit with the keys before finally getting her started and screeched out of the parking lot, headed in the direction the old couple had indicated.

Dean reached out and clamped a hand onto his brother's thigh, "You're gonna be okay, Sammy. I'm gonna get you some help."

Sam whimpered, trying to draw his legs up towards his body.

"You're gonna be just fine," Dean assured him, letting go. "I promise, Sam. Not gonna lose you, m'gonna take care of you, little brother. Just hang in there Sammy, just hold on." _For me_.

Dean briefly squeezed his burning eyes shut against his blurring vision. He couldn't chance missing the turn off for the hospital.


	3. I Will Keep You Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Technically, because of privacy laws, the doctor couldn't be specific about Sam's condition without Sam's consent. However, I've totally disregarded that. What? It's _MY_ 'verse and I can do what I want. I have no medical knowledge and only hope that everything I've written is at least in the realm of believability.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean sat in the waiting room of the hospital, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as if in prayer. His knees were bouncing with nervous energy, he chewed on his lower lip and his eyes darted around anxiously. After a few minutes, he jumped up and paced restlessly only to abruptly sit down again. This cycle had been repeating itself for the last forty minutes. One thought continued to echo in his brain over and over like a mantra - _Sam_.

His brother was just beginning to come to when Dean screeched to a halt in front of the emergency doors of the local hospital. Sam was still too groggy and disoriented to get out of the car even with assistance so Dean had to go inside and get some help. That was the worst part, leaving Sam in the car alone. The medical staff came out with a gurney and pulled him from the car, trying not to jostle him too much, not knowing his injuries. Nevertheless, Sam had made a noise that was between a groan and a whimper, he seemed to struggle weakly against the hands touching him. Dean kept as close as he could as Sam was wheeled inside, trying to talk to Sam, making sure his younger brother knew he was there. Sam opened his eyes, trying to look at him but didn't seem to really see him. Dean's heart tore as he looked into Sam's unseeing gaze, his eyes glazed over with pain and even more unsettling, fear.

Then all at once, Dean was being held back as Sam was being moved further away from him. It took all his self control not to punch the nearest person and follow his brother down the hall and into the room he was being taken to. There was some one asking questions, he tried, honestly he tried to concentrate on the things she was saying, his eyes glued to the door Sam disappeared behind. Answers tumbled from his lips; _his name is Sam, he's my brother, I don't know what happened, he's bleeding, I don't know, I don't know what's wrong_. That was the real problem, they'd both been hospitalized before, when it was something they couldn't take care of themselves. The thing was that it was never for something they didn't know the cause of.

Suddenly there were shouts and a loud crash coming from the room Sam was in and Dean was bursting through the door before he was even aware of moving down the hall. Sam was sitting up on the stretcher he'd been moved to, there was some one on the floor, Dean was nearly bowled over by the orderlies that ran in past him. They were grabbing Sam and struggling to restrain him before Dean could even comprehend what was happening. Every instinct in Dean screamed at him to help Sam, get those goons off of him and kick their ass for even thinking of touching his little brother but he was frozen to the spot.

Sam was yelling but he words sounded like a plea. Wanting to be let go, wanting them to stop touching him, to please not do this. It was the plaintive cry of his name that finally broke Dean's paralysis. Unfortunately, he was grabbed as soon as he moved forward by another orderly and though Dean could have broken the hold over him easily, he knew he shouldn't. He needed to let these people do their job. They needed to help Sam. It didn't make watching the nurse jab a needle into Sam's arm to administer a sedative any easier.

Sam's struggles slowed then stopped. He was panting heavily as he lay back on the cot with one last whimper of "Dean". It nearly broke him, hearing the helplessness in Sam's voice. Sam sounded five years old again, crying out in the darkness for his big brother to save him from imaginary monsters. The years before he found out monsters were real.

Dean had been ushered out of the room and led to the waiting room being told that a doctor would be with him soon. As he chewed on his thumbnail, he wondered where in the world "soon" was over forty minutes long.

Another five minutes and Dean's head shot up as a pretty female doctor with dark hair and kind eyes came in looking at a chart.

"Mr. Tyler?" she inquired, looking up.

Dean stood up again, nodding.

She smiled warmly, "I'm Doctor Cavanaugh."

"How's Sam?" He said without preamble.

She nodded, "Your brother will be just fine."

Dean's shoulders sagged in relief, his breath leaving him in a rush. It felt as though there had been a fist closed around his heart and it had finally let go and a band around his ribs had released and he could breathe again.

"Well, do you know what happened to him?" Dean inquired, "Can I see him? Is he awake?"

An odd, almost troubled look crossed the doctor's face, "Why don't you follow me to my office?" She smiled again, though this time it didn't reach her eyes. "We can talk privately about your brother's condition."

Just like that, the fist was back squeezing Dean's heart. Everything should be okay now. The doctor had said that Sam would be alright. So why did he suddenly have sinking feeling in his gut?

Dean dutifully followed Dr. Cavanaugh to her office on stiff legs, his body movements felt robotic. He sank in a chair opposite the big desk as she closed the door. He found himself wondering why doctors had to have such big offices with such big desks. Weren't they too busy to spend time in an office?

As the doctor sat behind her desk, Dean immediately blurted, "What's wrong with my brother?"

Dr. Cavanaugh spread her files on her desk. Then she tented her fingers and looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Mr. Tyler," she began, "I'll admit I don't know anything about you or your brother . . . Sam, is it?"

Dean nodded jerkily.

She looked back down at the files in front her before continuing.

"As I said," she looked up, "I don't know anything about you or Sam or your lifestyles. However, looking at the type of injuries he has-"

"What are his injuries?" Dean interrupted.

Dr. Cavanaugh sighed, "Abrasions on both wrists, multiple contusions - bruising - on his hips, thighs, buttocks, around the genital area, multiple anal fissures . . . Mr. Tyler, with these types of injuries together with the information you provided," she paused, interlocking her fingers and lowering her hands slowly on her desk. "It is my belief that your brother Sam, is a victim of a sexual assault."

The words hung between them. Dean struggled to understand what she had just said, tried to make some sort of sense of it. It seemed unconnected with Sam's condition. As though Dr. Cavanaugh had somehow switched topics without him noticing.

"What?" he breathed, unable to accept what he had just been told.

With a look of well practiced compassion and patience Dr. Cavanaugh stated, "I believe your brother may have been raped."

***S*S*S***

Dean didn't give much thought to how disgusting it was to have his forehead pressed against a public toilet seat. He was much too busy trying not to retch again. There was nothing left, not even stomach acid at this point. If his insides kept trying to rebel he'd have another ten minutes of dry heaving and that was worse than vomiting.

Finally, when he felt his legs could support him, he lifted himself shakily from the floor and made his way over to the row of sinks. Dean rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face with cold water. He found that he could scarcely look at himself in the mirror.

Stupid. He was so incredibly, undeniably stupid.

 _Irresponsible too,_ Dean thought, _don't forget that._

Dean knew that there was something wrong with Sam. He should have talked to Sam earlier, before they even left the motel that morning. He should have refused to even budge until Sam told him what was going on with him. Except instead of doing what he should have, what he was supposed to do as Sam's older brother, he just let it go. Dean just ignored the issue. Sure, he could use the excuse that he was going to get Sam to talk about what was wrong later. Yet, that was the problem wasn't it? Later . . . later was almost too late. Maybe it even was too late. Who knew what kind of psychological damage had been done by Dean's inaction? Even since last night, oh God, if he hadn't been too busy trying to get into that stupid bartender's pants than to look out for Sam.

Dean had taken for granted that it was just another night after a hunt. It was early in the evening when they went to that bar and had some lousy food. Then Dean, being Dean, ended up drinking too much and flirting too much with the hot bartender who was just this side of bitchy to be his type. He could almost remember Sam telling him that he was leaving. Dean waved him off, certain that Sam had a busy night of doing the boring, nerdy things that Sam did. Later that night Dean had been grateful, actually grateful that Sam wasn't at the motel, since the bartender wasn't willing to take him back to her place but was delighted to know that Dean had a room at the motel down the street. He usually didn't take women to the motels they stayed at but he was too wasted and horny to care. Just tie a sock on the door so that if Sam came back while Dean was otherwise indisposed, he would know to keep clear for a while. No thought at all to where Sam would go, what he would do while Dean was getting his rocks off. Moreover, Sam was a big boy now and as he liked to tell Dean so often, he could take care of himself.

So stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did he have to get so drunk that he passed out just after the hot bartender left? Why didn't he at least look at a clock? Why didn't he wonder once, just once why Sam wasn't at the motel when he got there? Dean was a piss poor excuse for a brother.

He slowly made his way to Sam's room. Dr. Cavanaugh had told him that he was sedated and probably wouldn't wake until morning. She had said that the reason Dean hadn't been able to wake him before was most likely due to to the stress to Sam's body and mind. Both trying to protect themselves and trying to heal. The doctor suggested that Dean should get a room for the night, get food and rest. Right, like he could get any rest or eat anything knowing that Sam was here, knowing what happened to him. Forget visiting hours, they'd have to drag him out. Stealing himself at the door, Dean took a deep breath and went in.

All in all, Sam didn't look as bad as he had in past hospital visits. The bruise under his eye stood out in sharp contrast to his pallid face and his wrists were wrapped in gauze but other then that, you wouldn't know anything was seriously wrong. Staring at Sam's pale face in the low light of the hospital room Dean thought he looked so damn young. As Dean drew close he reached out and brushed back a lock of Sam's dark hair from his forehead, his fingertips grazing Sam's brow. His skin was cool and dry . . . so young and so frighteningly fragile.

Dean had to look, he had to see for himself the damage that had been inflicted on his brother. Moving to his wrists, Dean pulled back the gauze enough to see underneath, wincing at the raw looking skin and the bruising surrounding the red area. Replacing the gauze carefully, Dean lay Sam's arm across his stomach. Then he began pulling back the blankets that settled over Sam's thighs. Here he paused before reaching out a shaking hand to pull up the hospital gown to reveal the flesh beneath. Dean sucked in a breath when he saw the multitude of bruises on is younger brother's thighs. The doctor had surmised that there was most likely more than once perpetrator. That made sense, Dean didn't think that just one person could have over taken Sam. Most of the bruises were finger-sized, he could practically see the hands grabbing Sam, digging their fingers into his skin.

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Dean whirled from the site, fighting not to be sick. When he felt in control of himself again, he turned back around carefully drew the blankets back over Sam's legs. He then dragged the only chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. Dean had never been much for hand holding but he placed his hand over Sam's, gripping it firmly.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Dean whispered, his eyes burning with unshed tears, "I'm so sorry."

There was only one thing Dean was supposed to do above all else, just one. Keep Sam safe. The only thing he hadn't been able to protect was Sam's innocence that nightmare things were real. Everything else, Dean was prepared to battle, bullies, ghosts, demons. He could safeguard his kid brother against all of it, it was his job and he was damn good at it. At least he had always thought so, until now. Dean was supposed to be ready for anything but none of his father's training had prepared him for this. He didn't know how to fight this, he didn't know how to shield Sam from something that had already happened. If this was a supernatural attack, Dean would know how to handle that but not this. Humans were some of the worse monsters out there but even the damned Benders weren't this bad. They kidnapped his brother and almost killed them both but they hadn't done anything this horrific.

Rage coiled in his belly. No one touched his brother and got away with it, no one. A long forgotten memory surfaced in his mind of a six year old Sam being pushed down by an older kid in an elementary school playground. Pushed him hard enough to make him scrape his palms against the asphalt, making him bleed. Sam hadn't cried but he was near tears and the older boy laughed at him for it. Dean had promptly stalked over and opened a good ol' fashioned can of whoop ass on him. It didn't matter that the kid was younger than Dean, hell, he could have been Sam's age for all he cared. What mattered is that he pushed Sam, he hurt is kid brother, that was a good enough reason to kick his ass, make him pay for what he'd done. Dean got suspended and he didn't care, he would have gladly done it again. Anyone that messed with Sam had to answer to Dean.

Sam was his responsibility, always had been, always would be. Dean was going to do everything in his power to find the sick fucks that did this to him. He would hunt them down, how ever many there were and he would kill them.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered again. "I know I fucked up this time and I'm sorry. I was suppose to look out for you. You're all I got left now and I was told to keep you safe and I failed. But I promise you Sam, _I promise_ I'm gonna make this right. No matter what it takes I will make it right."

Dean felt tears slipping down his cheeks and let them flow. There was no one awake to see them anyway.


	4. Do Not Let Me Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **My only defense for this chapter that it's Sam's POV and he's pretty doped up at the moment with sedatives and pain killers and all. I think Dean is kind of OOC in this chapter too but I couldn't help myself, you'll see what I mean.**   
> **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Sam floated in an endless shadowy void. Here there was no light, no pain, no fear. It felt like this was all he had ever known and it felt safe. He couldn't imagine wanting anything more than this quiet, peaceful place.

_Sam . . ._

The sound echoed in the far off recess of his mind, hushed and easy to miss.

_. . . So sorry._

It was clearer this time, slightly louder. Sam felt himself drift closer to the source of this disturbance of the tranquility of his sanctuary.

_. . . Fucked up this time . . ._

As Sam got closer he began to understand these sounds, they were words, spoken words. They didn't have meaning to him yet, he couldn't understand. Despite that, there was something so familiar about that sound, that . . . voice. It evoked . . . not quite memories but an intimate feeling. Something Sam knew, something comfortable and something he wanted

_. . . **I promise** , I'm gonna make this right._

Sam stopped, somehow aware that he had reached the border of this vacant dark land. He reached out searching for the source of that familiar thing, wanting to understand, wanting to remember, needing to interpret what this meant. His finger brushed the boundaries of his sunless refuge.

_Pain._

It erupted through Sam body in a sudden blaze of agony. He thought he screamed but he heard only silence. He recoiled away from the edge of his sanctum, away from the pain. Sam tried to scramble back but felt himself floundering in the black abyss. He shuddered and curled into himself, set adrift again and thankfully away from the hurting and the now forgotten voice.

Sometime later, it could have been an eon or more for all Sam knew, he heard the voice again. A rhythmic beeping keeping time in the distance. This time there were two voices and he could almost, _almost_ understand what was being said. They seemed to fade in and out, like a radio out of tune.

_. . . good brother._

_. . ._

_M'not, not really . . ._

_. . . care a lot about him._

_. . . you've no idea._

_I think he knows and that's what really counts._

_. . ._

_Hope so._

Why couldn't he remember anything other than the familiarity of that voice? Maybe . . . it sounded so sad, it wasn't . . . no, it wasn't supposed to sound sad. Sam wanted to reach out again, to comfort that voice, erase the sorrow. The memory of pain made him hold back. Slowly, he became aware that the space he was in was much smaller. He felt his skin graze the border and braced himself. The pain was still there but it was more of an ache. As though the tide had come in and was covering up the worst parts of the hurt. Sam wasn't ready to face it yet and curled up tighter, turning away from the sounds and the voices.

When Sam next became aware of himself, he was much more lucid. He could feel his body on the edge of consciousness and it ached but it wasn't so bad this time, the tide was still in. He still refused to completely leave his inner haven. He could hear the beeping and the same voice. It wasn't saying anything, it was . . . humming? Yes, it was humming but . . . what? Sam felt a hand clasping his own then lyrics drifted though the air.

_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_

_By making his world a little colder_

It went on and stirred a distant memory that felt like home and warmth and love. He felt callused fingers brushing back his hair and all at once he knew.

_Dean._

Sam could remember now. It was Dean's voice and Dean's hands touching him. His big brother. It was Dean's fingers in his hair, it was Dean singing . . . wait, Dean was _singing_ to him? Singing a Beatles song no less? No, it couldn't be. Dean would never . . . would he? Of course not, he wouldn't even let Sam give sincere apologies with out complaining of "chick flick" moments. But it sounded like Dean and it felt like Dean and if this was a dream, he'd gladly take it. Inside he smiled and drifted away again to the melody of Hey Jude.

The darkness was shifting into gray when Sam came to himself again. He knew he couldn't stay much longer but he also knew Dean was on the other side of this world. That made it okay, the pain didn't feel so bad knowing that Dean would be there, Dean would take care of him. So Sam let himself drift closer to wakefulness. Then something changed.

The gray became clouded with dark red and brown. It turned his world murky and confusing. Sam could hear cold, excited laughter somewhere in the distance. He turned around and around and could see no one and he felt more afraid than he could ever recall being. There were voices now too but so unlike the voices he heard outside of himself. These voices were in here with him. They were getting closer and louder and they were all around him, he couldn't get away from them, they closed in.

_So pretty._

_You're such a pretty little bitch, aren't you?_

_Feels so tight._

_Gonna make you want it._

_Gonna make you scream._

_Gonna make you come for me._

_Come for me, bitch._

Next they were touching him. Hands roaming all over his body. Sam panicked, he kicked away trying to find a safe place to go, unsure how they invaded his sanctuary. He fell backwards out of the dingy world and into a vast white light.

***S*S*S***

Sam woke with a gasp, his eyes snapping open. His eyes darted around the room frantically. Early morning light filtered through a curtained window. He had no idea where he was, all he could feel was building dread at finding himself in unfamiliar surroundings, alone. His head snapped to the left, no, not alone. Slumped in a chair with his head lolling to one side and slightly drooling on his leather jacket was Dean. His hand was still resting on top of Sam's.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was a hoarse whisper. He tried to wet his lips and swallow but he felt completely parched.

Still, he tried again, "Dean?"

"'uh," Dean's eyes, cracked open a fraction, upon seeing Sam his head shot up, suddenly fully alert. "You're awake."

"Water," Sam croaked.

Dean jumped up nodding, surreptitiously wiping his mouth and disappeared from Sam's line of vision. He was back only a moment later with a cup in hand. Though the bed was already slightly elevated, Dean grabbed the remote to raise the bed more so Sam could drink easier. As the bed moved, Same winced and Dean froze.

"Sorry," Dean apologized. "Should I get a nurse?"

Sam shook his head, looking longingly at the cup in Dean's hand. Thankfully, his brother took the hint and held the cup to Sam's lips. The liquid slipped down his throat cool and soothing. Sam greedily drank the liquid until Dean gently moved the cup away. Sam's head followed it forward slightly before falling back again.

"Easy," Dean said quietly, "don't wanna choke do you?"

Sam blinked slowly at Dean. His body felt strange, dragging and heavy, like if he tried to move it would be like wading through molasses. There was a persistent ache in his lower back and legs but it felt far away from him. Sam could hardly think and his confusion did nothing to ease this constant state of unease. He saw the bandages on his wrists and the feeling of trepidation grew. The slow beeping of the heart monitor was irritating. Sam knew something bad happened, it wasn't just where he was, he could feel it, somewhere inside, something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"'m'n'the hospital?" He forced out. His voice was clearer yet his tongue felt like thick clay.

Dean sat down besides the bed again, nodding, "Yeah, Sammy. You're in the hospital."

Sam frowned, ''Wha'appened?"

Dean looked away, his mouth a grim line. He looked like he was in pain.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded small, even to his own ears and he hated it. Hated feeling weak and confused and frightened all at once.

Dean looked at him again, his face softened as he attempted to cover up his discomfort.

"You . . ." Dean took a shaky breath, "you were . . . bleeding, Sam." He paused then continued sounding as if he were weighing each word carefully, "What do you remember?"

Dean reached out and clutched his hand and Sam became utterly bemused when Dean reached up to sweep his bangs back from his forehead. It felt familiar though Sam couldn't recall the last time Dean had performed such an action. Not since they were kids when Sam's hair would grow out and Dean would continually reach out and brush Sam's bangs out of his face. It had somehow come to be a comforting gesture until Sam turned twelve and suddenly found it annoying.

Looking back up at Dean, Sam frowned, "Remember?"

"Yeah, Sammy. What's the last thing you remember?" Dean confirmed, looking at him intently.

Staring up at the ceiling, Sam tried to think. It wasn't easy, his brain still felt foggy and sluggish. He could remember the hunt. Sam tried to think if that's where he got hurt. No, it was a standard salt and burn, the spirit hadn't even shown up to stop them, they usually didn't, especially if their body was in a graveyard. What then? The bar, bad food, average drink, Dean flirting, Sam leaving, knowing where this was going. Next thing Sam thought of was walking down the street, towards the motel and starting to feel light headed, he shook his head to clear it but it only made him dizzy, he stumbled, someone's arms around his waist, catching him, hauling him up - _Easy now, you should sit down, need a ride?_ \- No, no, Sam didn't need a ride but he did need to sit down. Something wasn't right, Sam needed Dean, he needed to get his brother to help figure out what was happening. But he was so tired, he just needed to rest, just for a minute. And then . . . and then . . .

And _then_ in a sudden rush he remembered all of it. Ropes binding his wrists, the laughter, the jeering, hands roaming his body, skimming over his bare skin, fingers digging into his flesh, the pain, the horrible burning, ripping pain. Sam felt so disgusting, he felt so tainted and used. Saliva flooded his mouth as he felt the nearly overwhelming urge to vomit. How had this happened to him? Why did they do this to him, why couldn't he fight them off? Sam was distantly aware that the beeping sound in the room had accelerated.

Instantly, Dean was there in front of him, cupping is face and saying his name. _Oh God, no . . . no, no, no, NO!_ Dean couldn't know about this. Sam couldn't let Dean find out. What would Dean think if he knew how weak and stupid and useless and filthy Sam was?

Sam reached up and gripped Dean's forearms, hoping beyond hope that maybe Dean didn't know anything. Dean had to have talked to a doctor but maybe they didn't tell him anything, it was something private after all. Didn't doctors have some sort of code of ethics or confidentiality, weren't they supposed to speak to Sam first about this sort of thing?

"Dean," Sam choked out, "what did they tell you?" It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Dean that whatever they said, it was a lie. It was all a lie and Dean shouldn't listen to them. It was ridiculous to expect Dean to believe that, Sam knew.

The saddest expression he had ever seen came over Dean's face and Sam's heart plummeted.

"Enough, Sammy." Dean murmured, "They told me enough."


	5. Dust Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter was really hard to write, at least on the Sam side, Dean didn't seem to have much trouble this time around.**   
>  **Again, I have no knowledge of what happens in hospitals with rape victims so apologies.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Sam couldn't breath, his chest hurt, he felt sick and dizzy and he was shaking uncontrollably.

Sam had never experienced a panic attack before. Therefore, it was perfectly natural for him the think he was about to die. He was startlingly okay with that. As a matter of fact, it was probably the best thing all around. If Sam died, he wouldn't have to deal with any of this. He wouldn't have to think about what had happened and he certainly wouldn't have to deal with the fact that Dean knew now too. Really, dying was preferable. Death though, seemed like it was taking a long time to get there.

It was when he was completely oblivious to his surroundings that Dean was suddenly filling his vision, his face barely an inch from Sam's. Sam could feel the heal of Dean's hand pressed to the the hollow of his cheek, his fingers cradling his jaw. Dean's lips were moving but Sam couldn't hear him over the roaring in his ears. He stared wide eyed meeting his older brother's gaze and holding. Gradually Sam started to feel himself calming. He became aware of a thumping against his palm. Sam glanced down and saw his hand was pressed against Dean's chest over his heart. Dean's other hand covering Sam's, holding it in place.

"Sam? Sammy can you hear me?" Dean's voice seemed to fade in from a distance, "Sam? Look at me, Sammy. Sammy? Breathe Sam, just breathe."

Sam looked up into Dean's eyes again. It created a feeling of being anchored in reality once more.

"Dean?" Sam croaked.

Dean's shoulders visibly relaxed, "Yeah, Sammy." He exhaled, dropping the hand on Sam's cheek he rested his forehead against Sam's.

"What happened?" Sam felt so confused.

"You just had a panic attack, honey." A voice in the room piped up.

Both brothers turned their heads and saw a plump black woman in scrubs, the top of which appeared to be made up of firetrucks, Dalmatians and muscle bound firefighters. She was besides a tray with a needle on it and now seemed to be checking the monitors besides Sam's bed.

"She wanted to give you another sedative," Dean explained with a wry smile. "But I can't have you doped up all the time, no matter how much I like the peace and quiet."

Sam looked at his hand which Dean was still holding against his chest. Following his gaze Dean looked slightly surprised for a moment before letting go and, giving and awkward cough, looked away.

"I'm going to tell the doctor you're awake." The woman said taking the tray and giving Sam a pointed look, "I know she'll want to talk to you."

Sam gave his brother a panicked look as the woman left, "I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to answer any questions!" he hissed.

"Hey, calm down." Dean said softly, taking hold of his wrist, "you'll be okay, I'm gonna be right here."

Dean was going to be there while he had to answer questions about what happened to him? Oh, that made Sam feel _so_ much better! So good, in fact, that he wondered if he was going to have another panic attack so soon after the first one.

"Please, Dean," Sam begged, "I just want to go, can't we just leave? _Please_?"

"I know you wanna leave, I'm gonna get you out of here, I promise just -" Before Dean could finish the door opened again and the doctor with a clip board entered, looking much too cheerful. Sam cringed inwardly.

"Hello Mr. and Mr. Tyler," her smile grew impossibly wider and she turned her attention to Sam. "Good to see you back with us. My name is Dr. Cavanaugh, I treated you last night when you came in." She picked up the chart at the end of the bed and studied it for a moment. "I need to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

"Sam."

"Pardon?" She looked up.

"It's Sam," he clarified, "call me Sam."

"That answers one of my questions," she smiled, approaching him and taking a pen light out of the pocket of her white coat. "It's always good knowing your own name."

Sam flinched slightly when she reached out to hold his eyelid open, passing the shining light over his each of his eyes in turn, watching the pupils contract. Pocketing the pen light, she withdrew an actual pen. Dr. Cavanaugh started to ask her routine questions, scribbling notes as she went. What year was it? Who was the president?

Then she asked if he remembered what happened.

There didn't seem to be enough air in the room but Dean squeezed his wrist and somehow Sam managed to force out, "Yes."

She let the silence drag out a bit, Sam clenched the blankets in his fists and stared at his lap.

"Can you tell me what happened?" The she asked softly.

Sam eyes darted frantically between Dr. Cavanaugh and his brother. He couldn't even think the word in his own head and she wanted to say it out loud? With Dean there, in the same room? No, no chance, not ever.

The doctor suddenly smiled a little too brightly and turned her attention to Dean.

"Mr. Tyler? Can I speak to your for a moment?" She titled her head towards the door before moving towards it.

Dean, who had been watching Sam intently looked up at her in surprise, "Huh? Oh uh, yeah." He turned back to Sam, giving his wrist another squeeze he said, "I'll just be a sec."

Sam watched as his brother joined Dr. Cavanaugh at the door. They spoke in soft tones that he couldn't hear. Dean started to look agitated and kept throwing glances over his shoulder at Sam. For his part, Sam was pretty irritated that they were obviously talking about him while in the same room without including him in the discussion. He wasn't a little kid after all.

Finally, with a sigh, Dean turned around, "Hey Sammy, I gotta step out for a few, y'gonna be okay?"

Sam nodded jerkily. He wasn't okay to be begin with but Dean being there or not wasn't going to change that. Dean nodded and with a sad smile slipped out the door. Dr. Cavanaugh approached Sam once more and Sam wondered if letting Dean leave was such a good idea after all.

"I thought," the doctor began, "perhaps you'd be more comfortable talking if it was just me in the room. Sometimes, it's harder to talk about certain things with family in the room, even if you're very close. You and your brother seem close, are you?"

Sam nodded slightly then let his head fall back onto the pillow, staring listlessly up at the ceiling. His anxiety drained out of him, he didn't have the energy to sustain it anymore.

"So, can you tell me what happened, Sam?" She asked in a soft sympathetic voice.

"I. . ." Sam's breathing hitched, "I was . . . attacked."

"Attacked?" She asked.

Sam nodded again, fixing his eyes to one particular spot on the ceiling.

"Did you know the person who attacked you?" She prodded.

"No," Sam whispered.

The doctor leaned forward, "I'm sorry?"

"I said I didn't know them," Sam said through gritted teeth.

She cocked her head, "Them? So there was more than one?"

Sam closed his stinging eyes, he didn't know how much longer he could take being questioned. He just wanted to get back on the road and forget any of this had ever happened.

Dr. Cavanaugh though, seemed determined to drag this out as long as possible, "Now that you're awake we can contact the proper authorities so you can report this."

His head snapped towards her and what little color he had drained from his face, "Do I have to do that?"

"You are not legally obligated to file a report, no." She hastened to assure him, "But Sam, the people that did this are still out there. Chances are you aren't the first and you certainly won't be the last."

Sam's head fell back again, "It doesn't matter."

"Sam . . ." She began.

"I said it doesn't matter!" He snapped and glared at her, "Look, if you really want to know, I was attacked by four people, I hardly know what they look like and it happened in a completely different state. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to _think_ about it, I just - I just - _don't_!"

Dr. Cavanaugh kept infuriatingly calm through his tirade and said simply, "Okay."

The anger, much like his earlier anxiety, drained from Sam. It was painful to feel angry and painful to feel scared. He didn't want to feel anything anymore, he just wanted to be numb.

"There are some pills I'm going to prescribe you," the doctor began, "you'll have to take them for at least twenty eight days-"

"Am I going to have to stay here for that long?" Sam sounded horrified.

"Most likely you won't," she explained, "you'll still have to take the pills though. They are to help prevent HIV infection."

Sam winced, "They used condoms."

"Pardon me?"

Realizing his slip, he closed his eyes in defeat before looking at her again.

"They used condoms," he gritted out, "they said . . . they said they didn't know where I'd been." Sam felt like the words were being ripped out of him.

Dr. Cavanaugh nodded, "Nevertheless, it would be in your best interest to take the medications."

She went on to talk about ointments that would have to be applied regularly by nurses to humiliating places on his body, what he would have to do after he had a bowel movement and so on. After a while, Sam tuned out, it didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. This degradation would never stop, this would never go away. Sam closed his eyes and, not for the first time, wished that he could cease to exist. Not really die, just to never be in the first place.

***S*S*S***

Dean waited outside Sam's room impatiently.

When Dr. Cavanaugh had suggested that he step outside while she talked to Sam, he had completely refused at first. No way was he going to leave his baby brother alone at a time like this, Sam needed him.

That was the only thing that kept him from leaving to hunt down the bastards that did this to him. Well, that and the fact that he had no idea who they were or what they looked like. Honestly though, it wasn't like he would let that stop him. Dean had some time while Sam was unconscious to devise a plan. He'd start at the last place he'd seen Sam that night, the bar. He'd ask around there first, he was pretty sure that bartender would be more than helpful. He'd find out who they were and death would not be quick, he would take them apart, piece by piece. Hunters weren't supposed to kill humans, not humans that weren't possessed by demons at least, it was a contradiction to kill what you tried to protect. These guys weren't humans, they were monsters as far as Dean was concerned. Eventually, he was going to find them and he was going to kill them, slowly and painfully.

Dr. Cavanaugh insisted, saying that in some cases it can be more difficult for victims to talk about their ordeals with friends or family around. They preferred that their loved ones not have to know the details about what they had been through.

On an intellectual level, Dean understood that. On a big brother level he felt that leaving, even if he was just going to be on the other side of the door, was a betrayal.

When Sam didn't stop him, however, Dean couldn't help but feel slightly offended. Was Sam really more comfortable talking to a complete stranger than him, his own brother? Okay, so maybe Dean wasn't the hypersensitive chatty type but this was different. Sam had been . . . hurt and Dean could set aside his usual nature to just brush emotional turmoil to the side and just be there to listen, to talk, whatever his little brother needed. Perhaps he wouldn't be very good at it but he could give it his best shot, it was for Sam after all.

Sam, his only living blood kin, his only connection, his whole world . . . alright, that was going a bit far . . . no, you know what? It wasn't. Sam was everything to Dean, dammit! He'd die for that annoying little brat so how could Sam just let him walk out the door like that? And what the hell was taking so long?

When Dr. Cavanaugh _finally_ emerged from Sam's room, she smiled sympathetically at Dean, "Thank you Mr. Tyler I know that must have been difficult for you."

"Did he tell you anything," Dean asked, glancing at the closed door.

She shook her head, "Not much that we didn't already know."

Dean nodded, "Look, I need to get him out of here as soon as possible."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Mr. Tyler, your brother has just had a very traumatic experience. With his particular injuries, they need to be taken care of around the clock, checked regularly, have ointment applied, especially after a bowel movement. He's very susceptible to infection at the moment."

"I can do all that," Dean insisted. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

The doctor took on a dubious expression, "Mr. Tyler -"

"Look," Dean interrupted, "I practically raised this kid, okay? I've taken care of diaper rash, skinned knees, poison ivy and broken bones. I've nursed him through colds, fevers, flues, chicken pox and his first hangover. Believe me, I can do this. Sam doesn't want to be here and I don't want to keep him here longer than necessary."

"Mr. Tyler," she sighed, "I understand that you want to help your brother, I really do. The best thing for him right now is to be in the hospital."

Seeing that Dean was about to interrupt her again, she held up a hand, "If you want to take him out of the hospital, we both know I can't stop you. I'm asking you, please, let us do our job, we only want what's best for Sam." Giving him an imploring look she added, "Give us at least a week Mr. Tyler, I would like him to stay longer but if you still want to take him home after that, I won't try to convince you to keep him here."

Dean wanted to object and take Sam away from here like he knew his younger brother wanted. Nevertheless, he knew Dr. Cavanaugh was right, it was in Sam's best interest to stay in the hospital for just a short while longer. Dean nodded in resignation, though he didn't know how he was going to break it to Sam.


	6. Be My Pillar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Again, I have no idea how hospitals or rape centers work with rape victims, so my apologies for what I am sure are glaring inaccuracies here.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

"When are we leaving?"

Dean wasn't even halfway through the door when Sam queried him.

 _Crap_ , Dean thought.

"Dean?" Sam pressed when his older brother remained silent, "When can we go?"

"Soon." Dean said evasively.

Sam wouldn't be deterred, his eyes narrowed as he spoke, "How soon is 'soon'?"

"Soon enough?" Dean quipped.

Sam merely glared at him.

Heaving a sigh Dean said, "A week."

Sam blanched, "A _week_?"

Dean held his hands out in front of him, "Sam . . ."

"I don't want to to be here, Dean!" According to Sam's heart monitor, his pulse had shot up again.

Dean crossed the room quickly, combing back his younger brother's hair with his fingers.

"I know," Dean said in a soothing voice, the kind he used when Sam was small, "I know and I really don't want to keep you here but the doc said -"

"The _doctor_?" Sam said, disbelief coloring his voice, "Since when do we listen to doctors, Dean?"

Dean refrained from rolling his eyes. It's not like they _didn't_ listen to doctors. After all, they had to do what was necessary to keep themselves alive so they could keep hunting.

"It's just a week, Sammy." Dean said calmly, "Then we'll get out of here, I promise."

Sam looked around, trying to think of something to get them out of there faster, "What about that Massachusetts thing?"

Dean shrugged, "I dunno, I'll call Bobby and tell him - tell him-"

"Tell him what, Dean?" Sam looked horrified, "You're not gonna tell him what happened are you?"

Dean looked nervously at the monitor as Sam's heart rate steadily rose. He moved his hands to cup Sam's face, making sure they had eye contact before he spoke in a very slow deliberate manner, his thumbs brushing over Sam's cheekbones. Dean needed to keep his younger brother calm, they couldn't afford for Sam to have another attack and risk hurting himself even more.

"Sam, I need you to relax . . . just calm down. Can you do that for me?" Dean asked.

Anger flashed in Sam's eyes, "I'm not four years old, Dean." He said just as slowly as Dean, his voice sounding strained.

"Just relax," Dean continued as though Sam hadn't spoken. "I'm not gonna tell Bobby what happened, alright? It's nobody else's business. We can't hunt right now, Sammy, not until you're better."

Sam pulled his head out of Dean's grasp and tried to sit forward.

"I don't -" Whatever Sam was about to say was cut off by a quiet groan and grimace of pain.

"Geezus, Sammy." Dean grappled for the bed remote but before he could press the button to call for the nurse, Sam grabbed his wrist.

"I'm fine." Sam gritted out, sitting back and letting out a breath, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, right." Dean scoffed, "You sure seem fine." Still, he let the remote go. "Now do you get why you need to stay?"

Sam glared at his older brother and let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling again. "Whatever," he muttered.

Dean sighed and walked over to the other side of the room, the window there offered a great view of the parking lot he could even see his Impala, he'd had to move her after they got Sam under control. He wondered absently if Dr. Cavanaugh had a better view from her office.

Dean heard his brother mumble something and he turned his head, "What?"

"I said, you shouldn't have brought me here in the first place," Sam said sourly.

Dean turned his head back to the window, closed his eyes and counted to ten. He knew he shouldn't lose his temper with Sam right now but he'd gone from vulnerable little brother to ten year old brat and it was trying Dean's patience.

Dean turned around and leaned against the window sill, "Sam, you were bleeding and wouldn't wake up, what else was I supposed to do?"

Sam, of course, didn't say anything, just continued to glare at the ceiling. Dean scrubbed his face with his hands. What was he going to do now? Where did they go from here? He couldn't remember feeling so lost in his life.

"Why didn't you tell me, Sam?" Dean was scarcely aware that he'd spoken out loud but Sam looked at him, sorrow and guilt etched into his features causing a dagger of pain to pierce Dean's own heart but he continued, "Why didn't you just come to me and tell me what happened? I mean, we're brothers, man . . . I'm your _brother_ . . ."

Sam looked away again, his chin scrunched up and his lower lip trembling slightly. Dean could feel tears in his own eyes and he wanted to apologize and not just for what he'd said. He felt he had to atone for everything, telling Sam he was sorry for what a crappy brother he'd been wasn't enough, Dean wanted to take it back, take it all back. Turn back the clock 48 hours, erase those days, obliterate them.

Dean was about to say something when there was a knock at the door. He'd left it open and there was a petite, middle aged woman standing outside the threshold. She had blonde hair with dark roots that fell in soft waves past her shoulders and she wore a tan coat tied at the waist.

She looked between them for a moment before addressing Sam, "Sam Tyler?"

Sam scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, before nodding fractionally. Though Dean could see mistrust and wariness as his little brother looked at the woman who was now approaching him. Even the sympathetic smile filled with compassion didn't seem to help her as far as Dean could tell from Sam's body language.

"Hi, my name is Rachel," she said, "I'm from the Rape Crisis Center."

Dean closed his eyes again, _Great going Rachel_ , he thought, _nice to meet you, don't let the door hit you on the way out._

Sure enough, when he opened his eyes he saw that what little color his brother had regained had dissipated. He seemed to physically withdraw from her as though she was a poisonous snake posed to strike.

Rachel either didn't notice or was used to the type of reaction Sam had to her, "I thought you might feel like talking -"

"I don't wanna talk." Sam immediately cut her off, his voice was low and quiet but the tone held no room for argument.

Rachel nodded and somehow her face displayed more compassion than before. Dean thought if she got anymore benevolent a halo would appear over her head.

"I understand," she said sounding as if she really did. "It's okay if you're not ready to share your feelings with anyone right now. I wanted to let you know of the resources that are available for -"

"Please," Sam interrupted once again, looking away, "please, just go. I - I want to be alone."

"Sam," Dean began.

Rachel gave Dean a significant look before returning her attention to Sam.

"Of course, I realize this must be very difficult for you. I'm going to leave you this card," she pulled a business card out of her pocket and laid it on the blanket, inches from Sam's leg. "You can call the hotline at any time, day or night, the lines are always open. We also have a website if you feel more comfortable seeking help online."

Sam just stared at the card as though he'd never seen one before and wasn't sure if it was dangerous or not.

"Please consider giving the hotline a call, there are lots of options for help if you need them." Rachel said softly. "And Sam? Just remember, this isn't your fault and you're not alone." As Sam's brows knitted together she smiled one last time and departed.

As Dean watched her walk away a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Hey Sammy," he said slowly, "I gotta make some calls, I'll be right back."

Without waiting for a response, Dean hurried out the door after Rachel.

***S*S*S***

After Dean left, Sam continued to stare at the card that Rachel person had left. God, why couldn't people just leave him alone already? Dean didn't understand the real reason he didn't want to be in the hospital anymore. Everything here, everything around him reminded him of what happened. Sam wouldn't be here right now if it hadn't happened. People kept asking him questions, trying to get him to talk about it. Why couldn't anyone understand, he didn't want to talk? Why couldn't they just leave it alone?

Sam snorted softly. It was all just part of their job, their training, their procedures. They had things they had to do in a certain way in certain situations. They didn't care about him, not really, they were just going through the motions.

Sam picked up the card and crumpled it into a ball before letting fall to the floor. He didn't need any damned hotlines or websites. Weren't those designed for women anyway? Sam could only guess what they would think if a man called in. He already felt weak a stupid enough, he didn't need to share that with some one who probably wasn't used to dealing with male victims.

Shit . . . victim. God, that's what he was wasn't he? Sam was a victim now. A fucking statistic.

Sam shifted uncomfortably and wished he hadn't as a bolt of pain shot up his spine. He grunted and panted, hoping that it would subside in a moment. He was glad that Dean wasn't there for the moment, he'd probably ignore Sam's protest of getting a nurse at this point.

_Dean._

Dean was probably the only person in all this who really cared. So why did that make Sam feel even worse? Besides the shame and self-condemnation he had been wanting so much to protect Dean from knowing what happened that night. He knew his brother had been trying to keep him safe all of their lives. Sam didn't want to heap this on top of everything else. Dean would blame himself and Sam didn't want that. The only person that was to blame was himself. That Rachel woman naturally told him it wasn't his fault but Sam knew better. If he hadn't been so stupid, if he had been able to fight them off like he was trained to do. Sam felt weak and worthless and his worst fear was that Dean would see it. He dreaded every time Dean made him look him in the eye, he was terrified of what he would see there. Sam couldn't stand the thought of Dean looking at him with the pity or disgust that he believed his older brother must be feeling now.

Sam also knew because of the responsibility Dean felt towards him, Dean would want to go after who did this. Although Sam would like nothing more than to see them pay for what they did to him, he couldn't let Dean just run off and try to "avenge" him or something. Dean would probably go off alone and then be so angry he'd end up getting hurt or worse. All because of Sam.

Thinking about Dean running off to try and hunt down those guys by himself gave Sam a queasy, nervous feeling in his gut. He hoped that Dean would come back soon. He had to make sure that his brother wasn't going to disappear like that. Maybe that's why they were really staying here for a week, so Dean could go out alone and take care of them. Oh no . . . _no_ , Sam couldn't let that happen. Truthfully, he couldn't really blame Dean if he wanted to get as far away from Sam as he could. After all, what good was Sam to him now? Somehow, he would have to make sure that Dean didn't try to leave. Sam couldn't stand to see Dean get hurt because he was such a screw up.

Also, perhaps there was a little part of Sam that really didn't want to be left alone in an unfamiliar place.

Sam's feelings were so confused right now. Mostly he felt like he wanted to be alone but . . .

Was it also weak and even a little selfish to admit that maybe he just really needed his big brother with him right now?


	7. Do Not Leave Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So I'm sorry about the inaccuracies this may have. My knowledge of what a rape counselor would say is pretty much nil. Again, I just hope this is believable. Dean is kind of unguarded in this one but I think maybe Rachel is JUST that good at what she does, oh and another reason that will be explained in there. And yes, I know Caleb and Pastor Jim are supposed to be dead, being killed in season one. I never liked that they got killed off before we got to know them, especially Pastor Jim, so in this 'verse, although I don't know if they'll make an appearance, they are alive and well.**   
>  **Thanks for the comments guys, keep them coming!**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean caught up with Rachel as she was passing the reception area in the hospital lobby.

"Excuse me, Rachel?" He reached out and touched her shoulder.

She turned around giving him that sweet, compassionate smile, this time with a questioning look in her eyes. Dean was momentarily taken aback at the sudden realization that she looked a lot like his mother, Mary, just before her death. The same hair, the same age . . . she was shorter perhaps, with dark roots instead of natural blonde, a little thinner but the way she was looking at him . . . he could only stand and stare at her for a few seconds.

Rachel's brow furrowed, "Are you alright?"

Dean blinked and gave his head a clearing shake, "Uh, yeah - I mean no . . . well, yeah, I'm fine, it's just - you just look like some one I used to know."

She nodded and Dean remembered the reason he chased her down in the first place.

"My name is Dean," he held out a his hand, giving her his most winning smile, "Dean Tyler, I'm Sam's brother."

"Oh, of course," she smiled warmly and shook his hand, "hello."

He nodded once, "I just wanted to apologize for my brother -"

Rachel was already shaking her head, "No, no, it's perfectly alright. His reaction is quite normal. I've had people scream at me before. He's just been through a very traumatic experience, it's fine, really."

 _Yeah_ , Dean thought, _so people keep telling me. And it's my fault for being such a lousy brother._

Out loud he said, "Yeeeaah, uh, actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes?"

"Sure," she smiled then motioned for him to follow her.

She lead them to an empty waiting room, a different one than Dean had waited anxiously in, was it really only last night? They sat down next to each other and Dean twisted towards her. He felt a little unsure about how to begin. He needed advice but he didn't know what to ask for, what he really needed to know. How did he broach the subject of how to help his violated brother with a complete stranger?

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it, then frowned in concentration.

Fortunately, Rachel seemed to understand, "You want to know how you can help your brother deal with this?"

Dean nodded gratefully, "Yeah."

She gave him that same kind smile and nodded, "Is he older or younger?"

Dean was slightly surprised but he realized that, what with Sam's Sasquatch size, he really shouldn't be.

"Younger," Dean said, then rushed on. "The thing is - I mean, Sam he's - that is, I don't know -," he huffed in frustration, his head falling forward. "Christ."

"Dean," he looked up into Rachel's caring face. "I realize how hard this must be for you. Having some one you care about hurt in this way it's . . . well it's close to going through it yourself. With Sam being your brother, I'm sure it feels very personal to you."

Swallowing the lump in his throat Dean nodded, looking down, "Yeah, well, I always took care of him , y'know? He's always been my responsibility."

"Now you feel guilty," Rachel nodded, "like you're somehow to blame?"

Dean looked at her again, surprised, "Yeah . . ."

"Well Dean," she smiled sadly, "it's not you're fault, not Sam's either. The only fault lies with the people that did this to him. I'm sorry to say there's no quick way to fix this either. No magic words of wisdom you can pass onto Sam that will make everything better. I can give you some advice and tell you some things to expect. Of course, there is no way of knowing exactly how Sam will handle and deal with what happened to him but there are some general guidelines that can help both of you cope."

Dean nodded fervently, any advice he could get now was welcome. It's not like his dad's notebook would be any help and Sam had always been the superior one at research. If only this was something he could shoot at, then he'd be in his element.

"Okay," Rachele began. "First off, don't press him for details of the attack. He won't talk about it until he's ready to. When he does decide to open up to you about what happened, don't stop him, no matter how painful it might be for you to hear. Don't tell him what you would have done instead, don't ask why he did or didn't do something. It'll make him feel like he's being judged and can come off as accusatory. Don't disbelieve him, that's the greatest fear of a lot of victims.

"As far as what to expect . . . does Sam have anyone else in his life that could help form a support system?"

Dean thought of Bobby, Pastor Jim, Caleb, even Ellen . . . but seeing as how Sam didn't want anyone to know what happened, he shook his head, "We lost our mom when we were kids and our Dad passed away recently. It's pretty much just the two of us."

"Right," Rachel continued, "so you're going to be Sam's soul support in all this. You're also going to be the one he'll most likely lash out at."

Dean blinked, "Lash out?"

"Anger is very common." She told him, "If you're the only one around, you're the one it's going to be directed towards. Just remember that it's not you he's angry at, it's himself and the men that did this to him. Flashbacks and nightmares are also very common. Also, he'll most likely suffer from RTS." At Dean's questioning look she elaborated, "Rape Trauma Syndrome.

"I don't know how . . ." she squinted in thought, ". . . physically close you and your brother are, like if you guys hug or touch each other often, just know that if you do touch or hug him and he pulls away, don't take it personally."

Rachel paused as she saw Dean chewing his lip in concentration.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" She said kindly.

Dean nodded, still lost in thought, "Yeah, it is. I'm not gonna to lie, I'm totally lost, I have no idea how to move forward from here."

"It's going to be a very tough road," she agreed, then pulled out another card from her pocket, handing it to Dean. "Call the hotline, they can give you information about what kind of resources are in your area, and the web site has external links for other sites, some specifically for the family and loved ones of survivors."

"Survivors?" Dean questioned.

Rachel smiled, "Sam is alive, that makes him a survivor."

Dean felt a sudden jolt in his stomach. It was the sudden shock of realization that Sam could have _died_ , those sick bastards could have _killed_ him. Why it hadn't really occurred to him before was a mystery to Dean. Once Dr. Cavanaugh had told him that Sam would be fine, physically at least, he never even considered the possibility that Sam could have been murdered by those raping psychopaths.

"Hey," Rachel laid her hand on top of his, grabbing his attention. "You can do this. I can tell, you really care for your brother, I really think that you'll be able to help him through this."

Dean nodded, "Glad you think so."

She stood, "I really do."

Dean stood up as well, reaching out to shake her hand again and was surprised when she pulled him into a warm hug instead.

"Good luck, Dean." Rachel whispered before releasing him.

Dean managed a small smile as she departed, "Thanks . . . for everything."

Dean looked at the card in his hand for a long moment before slipping it into his back pocket. He had some other phone calls to make right now.

****

***S*S*S***

When Dean got back to Sam's room, his brother had a tray in front of him and was listlessly stirring a bowl of soup. Letting go of the spoon, Sam looked up at Dean when he walked in and seemed intensely relieved.

"Where have you been?" Sam asked, "You said you were going to make some phone calls, what took you so long?"

Dean held up a white paper bag and a beverage tray with two large cups in it. "I was hungry, dude. Didn't expect me to survive on hospital cafeteria food, did you?"

In truth, Dean hadn't wanted to leave the hospital grounds. When he went out to the Impala to talk to Bobby, he was already starting to feel anxious about being away from Sam. While he was sitting in the car explaining to Bobby that he and Sam couldn't hunt for a while he noticed something poking out from under the passenger side seat. Closer inspection revealed that they were containers from where he had stopped for lunch the day before and breakfast. It looked like the food inside hadn't been touched. Dean was a little confused, hadn't he seen Sam eating yesterday? As he racked his brain he realized that no, he hadn't really seen Sam eat. He saw his younger brother with food but hadn't witnessed Sam actually putting anything in his mouth, just a whole lot of straw sipping.

First, Sam isn't telling him anything and now he's not even eating. Dean felt even worse, how lousy were his observational skills if he didn't even know that Sam wasn't eating when the kid was sitting right next to him? Well, his brother deserved a hell of a lot better than hospital food, that was for sure.

Glancing at the contents of the tray, "Looks like you gotta tasty lunch there, Sammy. Chicken broth, lime jello and a cup of . . . what is that?"

Sam shrugged, "Apple juice, I think."

Dean grimaced slightly, "Can't beat that." He smirked, "Unless it's a double bacon cheeseburger."

He sat in the chair next to the bed, setting the drink tray on the tiny table beside it and started to unload the bag.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said. "Have something with substance, I won't tell if you won't. I even got a girly salad if you don't want a burger."

"I can't," Sam looked down at his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist. "No solid foods for at least a week."

Dean looked up from the sandwich he was unwrapping. "Oh . . ." He frowned when he couldn't think of anything more articulate.

Sam shrugged again, reaching out and pushing his tray away lethargically, "I'm not hungry anyway."

Dean pursed his lips, "Y'gotta eat, Sam."

Sam turned his head away, hugging himself tighter. Dean thought about bringing up the fact that he knew that Sam hadn't eaten the day before but decided that it would probably make things worse. He bit into the his burger instead, though with less enthusiasm than usual.

"I'm sorry . . ." Sam said so softly that Dean almost missed it.

Dean shook his head, "Don't worry about it, Lyle was buying anyway." He said referring to the name on the credit card he was using.

"No," Sam turned back towards him looking remorseful, "I mean, I'm sorry, about this, all of it. You shouldn't have to deal with any of this -"

"Stop," Dean interrupted, "just stop right there. This isn't your fault Sam, none of this is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong, you got it?"

Sam sucked his lower lip into his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away again but not before Dean saw the tear slide down his little brother's cheek.

"Hey," Dean dropped the burger and stood up. He reached over and cupped Sam's cheek, gently turning his brother's head back towards him. Taking Sam's face in his hands, Dean wiped away the tear.

"Sam," Dean all but whispered, resting his forehead against Sam's, "I know this is the worse thing to ever happen and I wish I knew what to do to make this easier for you. Just know that you can talk to me . . . about anything. I'm gonna do my best to help you through this."

Sam nodded as well as he could, a long moment of silence passed while Sam's hitched breathing returned to normal.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam grimaced, "There are onions on that burger aren't there?"

Dean pulled back his head looking at Sam in surprise. Was Sam actually making a joke about his breath? Just one look at the tiniest quirk to Sam's mouth told Dean all he needed to know. Although it may have seemed insignificant to anyone else, Dean felt as though they had just had a huge breakthrough. He felt like celebrating.

As it was, he gave Sam's head a shove, "Shut up, Sammy."

The rest of the hour passed quietly. Sam accepted the soda that Dean handed him. Dean told Sam that he talked to Bobby and that he'd even called Ellen, quickly assuring Sam that he'd only told them that the two of them wouldn't be hunting for a while. If Sam ever wanted anyone else to know what had happened, that would be Sam's choice. Though Dean didn't say it, he had wanted to tell them. If only to unburden himself, share the secret, so he might not feel as alone in this as he did. Though talking to Rachel had helped a little . . . maybe he would give the hotline more consideration.

Dean threw away the bag and the rest of the "evidence" of the food he'd brought before the nurse came in. She'd sniffed the room with a suspicious look but said nothing before giving Sam another dose of pain medication. Dean was grateful, he knew from Sam's expression that he was feeling more pain by the minute but refused to admit it. The medication made Sam drowsy and he fought to stay awake.

Finally Dean said, "Relax, Sammy. If you're tired, go to sleep."

Sam sighed in frustration. "Don't want to," he mumbled even as his eyes slid closed.

"Sleep." Dean insisted.

"Dean?" Sam murmured, sounding once more like a small child alone in the dark.

Dean reached up and smoothed Sam's hair back, "Yeah?"

"Don't leave, okay?" Sam said.

"I won't." Dean covered Sam's hand with his own, watching his brother as he slipped further from consciousness.

" _Promise_ ," Sam's voice suddenly clear and insistent even though his eyes remained closed. "Promise you won't leave."

Dean squeezed Sam's hand, "I promise, Sammy. I won't leave, I won't ever leave you."

Sam gave a final sigh and let oblivion overtake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'm going to start posting this in some LJ forums, well, the two that I'm a part of and my own journal. I know that you guys are out there so don't bring up spoilers! :)**   
>  **Also, off topic here, does anyone know any LJ sites that I can publish Supernatural fics? Only I've got a Weechester, a Teenchester and a Teen Sam coming out fic (they're all on here BTW) and the only sites I'm currently on are slash sites and the Wee and Teen aren't slash and the Teen Sam coming out just contains borderline slash content. Sorry, just thought I'd ask.**


	8. Need Me As I Need You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

"Dude, I think we should go. I've cross-referenced this a dozen times."

"Sam . . ."

"I'm almost sure it's the husband, his wife ruled their house with an iron fist until the day she died."

"Sammy . . ."

"Most people assume that it's the wife haunting the building but the way it looks to me, the husband -"

"Sam!"

_"What?"_

After the first day of Sam's hospital stay Dean had brought Sam his laptop. He had been hoping it would be enough to help distract Sam, give him something else to focus on. After all, the room was unremarkable at best, four light blue walls, to left of the bed the large window, in front of the bed the door, the chair next to the bed, with it's tiny side table, and the wall mounted television in the right corner with it's awful daytime television. The hospital though, had WiFi access and at first it seemed to help a little. Now however, it appeared to have backfired. Sam had just spent the last day and half researching the hunt they had been headed to in Massachusetts.

Dean sat next to the bed, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him once again. He rarely moved from Sam's side, only ever leaving to use the restroom, clean himself up and grab a brief meal before quickly returning to the chair that Dean was coming to think of as "his chair". The night staff at the hospital were nice enough to let him stay around the clock for which both Winchesters were grateful. The nurses had tried to get him to one of the unoccupied rooms at night to get a more comfortable night's sleep but there was no way that Dean was leaving Sam alone for entire night, not even for a few hours. His younger brother frequently woke up and needed to be reminded that he was safe.

Right now Dean was wearing an expression of half exasperation, half frustration.

"We are not going to Massachusetts," Dean said slowly, enunciated every word because apparently Sam hadn't gotten it the last time he'd explained this to him.

"But," Sam seemed to struggle inwardly for a moment, no doubt trying to find an argument that would sway his older brother, "I - we . . . this guy - this spirit - it's . . . it's pushing women down that flight of stairs and -"

"And I already told you, I talked to Bobby," Dean cut him off. "he's taking care of it, _we're not going_."

Sam huffed in frustration, glaring at the laptop, "Dad said never pass up a hunt and never bail on a hunt." he replied quietly.

"Well, Dad's not here is he?" Dean snapped, thinking about their father still hurt sometimes. "Also I really don't think he'd be planning on going through with a hunt after what just happened."

Sam wrapped his arms around himself, something Dean was seeing more and more often in the past three days.

"I doubt that." Sam mumbled bitterly.

Dean knew that Sam didn't really mean that but the accusation stung nonetheless. However John raised them, no matter how often he and Sam were at odds, their father loved them both and did the best he could and had told them as much.

Sitting up straighter Dean opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the door swinging open.

"Good morning, Sam." Dr. Cavanaugh greeted cheerfully, "Dean," She nodded at the elder Winchester who had finally asked the doctor to call him by his first name. Tyler was just the name printed on the newest insurance card after all . . . honestly he kind of missed Berkovitz.

Dean returned her nod, "Doc," he favored her with his trademark smirk.

Sam merely gave a fractional nod, barely looking at her.

Dr. Cavanaugh consulted her clipboard, "Well, Sam I have some good news," he looked up at that, expression holding the tiniest tinge of hope. "We got your HIV test results and they're negative. We of course gave you a full screening and you've tested negative for all sexually transmitted diseases."

Dean smirk widened into a grin, "That's great," he nudged Sam, "hear that, Sammy?"

Sam looked down again, shoulders drooping slightly, "That's great." He said dully, his voice barely above a whisper.

"However," she cautioned, looking much more serious, "HIV can take up to six months to incubate in the body, so I would suggest getting tested again once the sixth month has passed. Furthermore, I'm giving you some information about the earliest warning signs of HIV infection." She presented him with a pamphlet and when Sam made no move to take it, Dean reached over and pulled it from her fingertips.

"Thanks, doc." Dean said.

"Also, Sam?" Dr. Cavanaugh made an attempt to make eye contact, only succeeding in Sam shifting his eyes in her general direction. "I hear you haven't been eating . . . is that true?"

Sam tensed and looked down at the laptop, or rather, through it. His hands curled into fists and he hugged himself tighter.

"Listen, doc," Dean interjected into the tense silence. "Don't you worry about a thing, my brother just hasn't been feeling well so . . . "

She nodded, "Just to let you know if he doesn't start eating soon, we may have to resort to an NG tube."

Dean frowned, "A what?"

"NG tube," she repeated, "nasogastric tube, it's inserted in the nose and down the throat. After all," she turned her attention back to Sam, "you need to get nutrients in your body to help your healing process."

"Don't worry, doc," Dean repeated, "I'll handle it."

She nodded again and with one last look at Sam, departed.

"Dude, you don't have to be such a dick to Cavanaugh." Dean admonished in a low voice.

"Oh? Why's that?" Sam scowled, "'Cause you haven't slept with her yet?"

Dean's mouth dropped open, "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Nothing - whatever, by the way, I'm not a little kid," Sam glowered, "I don't need you to 'handle' anything."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, "You need to eat Sam . . . and don't even _think_ of looking for another hunt. Actually," Dean lowered his hand and looked sternly at his brother, "scratch that because I know you're already thinkin' it, just don't do it."

Sam glared at the ceiling, another thing he'd been doing a lot of lately, "Dude, I told you, working helps keep my mind off of things."

"You're not eating, you're barely sleeping," Dean countered. "Chances are that you're not gonna be much use on a hunt."

"I sleep plenty," Sam argued.

"Yeah," Dean snorted, "when you're on pain meds."

Sam made frustrated sound and ran his hands roughly through his hair.

"Dude, calm down." Dean cautioned and not for the first time, missed the heart monitor that had been disconnected the day before. Keeping track of Sam's heart rate was a good indication of how he was feeling at any given moment.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Sam yelled, "I'm _sick_ of you telling me to calm down!" The laptop slid off his lap, Dean caught it before it toppled to the floor, Sam didn't appear to notice. "I don't want to calm down, I don't want to be here, I don't want to eat, I don't want sleep, I don't want to think, I just - I just - I - I - I . . ."

Suddenly Sam couldn't seem to breathe, his eyes were wide and his mouth gaping as he gasped, the blankets bunched up in both fist by his sides.

"Son of a bitch," Dean stashed the laptop on the bedside table as he stood.

The last time Sam had a panic attack it had scared the crap out of Dean. It was made worse by Sam's fear of not knowing what was going on. Dean just hoped that faster action on his part he could pull Sam out of it quicker.

Dean curled his hand around the back of Sam head to move it so they were face to face. He could see the vacant look in Sam's eyes as they stared at him but Dean kept eye contact as he pried Sam's right hand from the blankets and clasped Sam's hand to his chest. During the previous attack, it was Sam that had first pressed his hand against Dean's chest. He had been holding onto Dean's arms then tried to grasp his shirt before the anxiety gripped him, without really knowing why, Dean had held his younger brother's hand in place. Since it actually seemed effective, he decided that he should do everything that he did last time, hoping that it would help coax Sam through this again.

Dean started a mantra of his brother's name, inserting "look at me" and "breathe" at regular intervals. He hated seeing Sam go through this. Hated that he could stop it, the best he could do was help him endure it.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, Sam's breathing evened out, recovering slowly from his attack.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean soothed, his hands moving the frame his brother's face, skimming his thumbs along Sam's cheekbones. "I got you, you're gonna be okay."

Sam's hand, still resting against Dean's chest, curled into a fist bunching up the fabric of Dean's shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as well as he could in Dean's grasp.

"No," Sam's voice trembled, opening his eyes, now shiny and wet, "no, Dean. I'm not . . . it's never gonna be okay . . ." Tears overflowed and slipped down his cheeks, "Why . . . why did this happen to me? What's wrong with me?" He choked out on a sob.

Guilt and helplessness tore through Dean and his heart ached. He wanted to say something, anything to dispel Sam's pain. Dean wasn't much for words but he did think that actions spoke louder. He slid his hand into Sam's hair, cradling his little brother's head to his chest. His other hand moved to Sam's back, rubbing up and down his spine. Dean buried his face in Sam's hair, willing any strength and serenity he had into his brother.

Sam released Dean's shirt and his arms wound around Dean's waist instead, holding tight, shoulders trembling.

Dean felt his own tears burning in his eyes but held them back, he had to be strong now, he had to hold it together for Sam's sake. Always for Sam, everything for his brother, his world, his life.

"I got you, baby brother." Dean whispered, "I got you."

****

***S*S*S***

When Sam woke the skin around his eyes felt strange. He rubbed his fists against his eyes, the skin feeling stiff and dry. It didn't take him long to realize that he had cried himself to sleep in Dean's embrace. A real sleep that was surprisingly devoid of nightmares, not a medicine induced slumber. He must have slept for a few hours, the last he knew it was mid-morning. Now, the room was orange with the setting sun, giving it a surreal look.

Sam looked over to see Dean dozing in his usual chair. One ankle resting on the opposite knee, the laptop sitting on his leg and his head propped up on his fist. He looked so tired, Sam knew that Dean didn't get much sleep, how could he in a chair after all? Dean was so concerned with Sam that he wasn't looking after himself properly.

A burden, that's what Sam was. A huge burden on Dean, always the little brother that Dean had to take care of before even thinking of himself.

Sam could vaguely remember making Dean promise not to leave and felt conflicted. Part of him thought that Dean should leave, that he shouldn't have to be bound to Sam. He was holding Dean back, especially since his . . . injury. Still he knew what would happen if Dean left, the first thing he would do would be to hunt down the people that did this . . . alone.

Though Sam couldn't deny that part of him just wanted Dean close to him. Selfish, so incredibly selfish.

Researching had felt good though. That's what Sam was good at, had always been good at. He actually enjoyed research. Not the work bit but when he found what he was looking for, that's where he got the rush. Certainly Dean would call that geeky - maybe even ask if Sam had a geekasm or something, so Sam never said anything. Dean got a rush out of fighting and killing monsters, he was made for hunting. Sam was made for research and his training in lying about everything to everyone (who wasn't Dean) would have made him a damn fine lawyer.

When Sam was without Dean, he didn't hunt, he just existed. He'd tried to be a real person for two years but it had never felt quite right, never quite real enough. As though his life then was a dream and he woke up the day Jessica was killed. No matter how much Sam wanted to believe that he could be happy in a normal, safe life, deep down he knew, it was too late for that. He once thought that after it all, after they got the thing that killed mom and Jess, he'd be able to go back. Not now though, not after everything, especially not after . . . this.

Dean, he could hunt without Sam. His older brother didn't need him. Dean wanted Sam around, sure, but he didn't _need_ Sam. Dean _thought_ he needed Sam. Right now, Sam wasn't worth much. If he couldn't research and he certainly couldn't hunt, then what use was he to Dean? How long would it be until Dean realized that Sam just wasn't worth it anymore?

If Sam could prove he could still do this then maybe that wouldn't happen. If he could just get past this, try to act like nothing happened, then he could research and hunt and everything would be like it was.

Too bad Dean could see through him so easily. Maybe if he kept up pretenses long enough though, he'd be able to convince Dean as well as himself, then they could move on from this.

"Dean", Sam said quietly, not really wanting to wake him but not wanting to be alone with his thoughts anymore.

Ever the light sleeper, Dean stirred and woke with a grunt and a snort. Blinking hard he looked around and then at Sam with relief.

"You're awake," he said unnecessarily, sitting up straighter. "How y'feelin'?"

"Better," Sam answered truthfully, he felt better rested and not as on edge as he had been.

Dean grinned, "Good."

He looked like he wanted to say more, probably more about this morning, what was said, what happened. Knowing Dean though, he wouldn't, talking about things wasn't what Dean did. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest attitude, the bravado, but Sam couldn't help but feel grateful for it at the moment.

When Dean started to fiddle with the laptop, Sam narrowed his eyes, "What are you doing?"

Raising his eyebrows, he looked between Sam and the computer before shrugging, "Nothin'."

That only made Sam more agitated, "Can I have my laptop?"

"Seriously dude," Dean rolled his eyes, "y'gotta getta hold of that OCD thing of yours."

"Seriously dude," Sam echoed, "give me my laptop."

His brother stood up, closing the laptop, "Fine, control freak, I gotta take a leak anyway."

Handing over the computer, he disappeared into the room's bathroom, the door closing behind him. Sam opened the laptop back up only to find himself staring at the Busty Asian Beauties home page.

"Dean!" Sam shouted in exasperation, the only response a muffled chuckle from the bathroom.


	9. I Fall To Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean wasn't the most computer savvy person in the world. He knew what he needed to know like how to search for things, how to track a cell phone and certainly how to access the adult sites. Yet, he still didn't know what a "my space" was and also didn't know that if a laptop is frozen, closing it doesn't turn it off. That's why he preferred books and magazines, they were easier, they didn't stop working in the middle of important . . . research . . .

Today, after Sam had finally cried himself into and exhausted sleep, though Dean had done plenty of "research" involving well endowed Asian females, he had also visited the website on the card Rachel had given him.

Like most hunters, Dean didn't scare easy. If you can fight something, if you can kill it, it's not so scary anymore. Okay, so flying scared him but planes crash. His greatest fear though, losing Sam. He had barely been able to manage losing his father, in fact, truth be told, he still had trouble reconciling what John had done to save him. Losing Sam was not an option as far as Dean was concerned. Then earlier, he learned there was something else that scared him nearly as much. Having to watch his brother deal with this horrific violation and Dean was helpless to do anything. Dean couldn't kill a panic attack, he couldn't stop what already happened, he couldn't make the memories go away. No matter how desperately he wanted to chase away Sam's fear like when they were children and Sam thought Dean could do anything and protect him from everything, he couldn't, he couldn't do a damn thing and it was tearing him up inside. Every time he saw fear or pain or panic in Sam's eyes, he felt the dagger that had taken up permanent residence in his heart, sink a little deeper in.

Dean needed help.

He also knew Sam needed help, possibly more help than Dean could give him. Sam wasn't ready to admit that yet. Dean knew from experience that a direct confrontation on his part wasn't going to go over well. For now, he'd have to find the answers on how to be Sam's only support in this alone. Though he would love to think that he could do anything and help Sam through this on his own, he was finding it harder to believe that was the case. In the meantime, however, he'd have to make due.

Dean exited the bathroom and found Sam looking intently at his laptop. He sauntered over and plopped down in "his chair" with a sigh.

"Watcha doin'?" Dean asked after a moment.

"Don't worry," Sam sighed, sparing him a sulky glance, "I'm not doing anything useful. Just playing an rousing game of Solitaire."

"That sounds exciting," Dean smirked.

"Yeah," Sam gave him a sardonic smile, "I thought later I'd even try some Mahjong or maybe stay old school and give Minesweeper a whirl."

"Y'know Sammy, it's just that kind of sarcasm that gives our relationship real spice." Dean commented.

Sam almost chuckled, "Dude, you got that from Misery."

Dean looked confused, "What?"

"Y'know, Stephen King?" Sam rolled his eyes. "That's a direct quote from the movie."

"Good movie," Dean said thoughtfully, "Y'know what else was good, Pet Sematary. Denise Crosby? She made dead chicks hot."

"No she didn't," Sam said incredulously. "Dude, when she was dead, one of he eyes was carved out, how is that even remotely sexy?"

They continue the argument, neither one of them bringing up real dead women who were sexy. Somehow, when you're really dead, sexy isn't the word that comes to mind. Then Sam's dinner came. Setting aside his laptop he regarded it with the same disdain as every other meal since he came to the hospital.

"I'm not -" He began.

"You are," Dean interrupted, trying to keep the reproach in his voice light. "C'mon Sammy, you haven't eaten in days."

Sam looked down at the tray and wrinkled his nose. Dean was reminded fleetingly of feeding a reluctant infant strained peas from a jar and wondered briefly if he would have to resort to "here comes the car, heading to the garage" tactics to get his brother to start eating again. He shook his head at the thought of how well that would go over.

Then none of it mattered because, forgoing the spoon, Sam picked up the bowl and chugged down the soup.

"Uh, Sam?" Dean tried to intervene.

Sam ignored him, all but inhaled the jello and managed his cup of juice in one swallow.

Pushing the tray away from him, Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, "What?"

Dean shrugged watching Sam pick up his computer again, "Nothin'." He said, though he continued to watch his brother intently.

It wasn't long before Sam's stomach was making some very odd noises. Sam's face contorted and a split second later, Dean had the waste basket under his chin as Sam coughed up his meager meal.

"I was _gonna_ say," Dean spoke, patting Sam lightly on the back, "that seeing as you haven't eaten in a while, you might wanna slow down or you might make yourself sick."

"Yeah, I got that," Sam hiccuped, "thanks . . . I didn't get anything on my laptop, did I?"

Replacing the wastebasket, Dean shook his head, "Thanks to my lightening fast reflexes, no." He filled a cup of water with the pitcher that sat on the beside table and handed it to Sam.

"I'll be back in a few." Dean said, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"Despite what just happened, I'm actually hungry." He tossed Sam a smirk over his shoulder, "I'll back soon."

True to his word, no more that twenty minutes passed before Dean was sauntering back in the room. Once again bearing a drink tray and a white bag. He gave Sam one of the cups, a nice cold milkshake.

"Sip slow," Dean warned him.

Sam gave him a small grateful smile, Dean knew that it had to be ten times better than hospital broth. Sam managed to drink half of it, it wasn't much but it satisfied Dean.

***S*S*S***

Dean sighed, his eyes closed, he was counting silently in his head again. When he finally trusted himself to speak without shouting he opened his eyes and fixed a stern gaze on Sam who was perched on the edge of his hospital bed.

"Sam," he said, amazed at how calm he sounded. "Get in the chair."

"No," Sam replied, jaw set, looking every bit the petulant child.

Dean's grip on the handles of the wheelchair in front of him tightened. After a week in the hospital Dean thought that Sam would do anything to leave. So far he had. He submitted to Dr. Cavanaugh's final check, making sure he was healing properly and that he was no longer in danger of infection. Though the doctor had again expressed that she though Sam could do with a longer stay, get his weight back up especially, she didn't press the issue.

While the doctor had been examining Sam, Dean had gone to the closest clothing store he could find and picked up a pair of baggy sweats. Sam was damn hard to shop for with his height but he didn't know what of Sam's was dirty and clean in his duffel bag. Besides, after finding a pair of jeans and a pair of sweats with blood stains in the seat buried at the bottom of the bag, Dean didn't think he could stomach searching more. The clothes Sam had been wearing that night had been returned though the pants and the briefs had been cut off, why they bothered to return them afterwards was beyond Dean.

Sam surprisingly hadn't protested while Dean hovered over him as he dressed. Sam hadn't moved much during the week and though he made a valiant effort at eating the meals brought to him, he still was eating far less than he should. His energy was at an all time low though he wouldn't show it.

Since Dr. Cavanaugh had told Dean about Sam's injuries, he'd thought he had already seen them. The marks on his wrists, the bruising on his thighs. So when Sam had taken off the hospital gown after tugging on the sweat pants, Dean froze at the site of his brother's back. Why hadn't the good doctor mentioned the bite mark on the back of Sam's right shoulder or the multiple scratch marks trailing down his back? Perhaps she had been too focused on the more serious of Sam's injuries, maybe these just slipped her mind, maybe she meant to mention them later and never got around to it. Whatever the reason, Dean had to fight the additional rage swelling in his chest. Now wasn't the time, he had to get Sam out of the hospital and onto the road. Then maybe they'd drive right back to - NO . . . no they weren't going back.

Not yet.

Dean had a list of instruction and a fist full of medication and ointments from the hospital pharmacy. After a lecture from Dr. Cavanaugh about Sam's continued treatment, warning signs of infection and easing Sam back onto solid foods, Dean was good to go.

The only problem was, Sam suddenly didn't want to cooperate. When the cheerful nurse showed up with the wheelchair, Sam balked. Dean knew that Sam wanted to leave but he was "absolutely not getting in that thing". So Dean took the chair from the nurse and tried to convince his younger brother to take a little ride so they could leave. So far, it wasn't going too well.

"Sam," Dean started in his best, "do what I say and do it now" voice.

"I don't need a wheelchair." Sam glared at the contraption, eyes narrowed in contempt. "I can walk on my own."

"It's hospital policy," Dean grumbled through gritted teeth. "Just get in the chair and we'll go."

Sam took a deep breath through his nose before stating, "I'm not gonna get in the chair, Dean."

"Sam, get in the goddamned wheelchair or I'm gonna make it so you really do need one." Dean snapped.

Oh, _that_ earned the black glare of death but after a moment, Sam slid down from the bed and gingerly lowered himself into the chair. Huffing he slumped down, crossed his arms and glowered at the floor.

Rolling his eyes, Dean groused, "Swear, you can be such a b -," he stopped short, that "B" word seemed to bother Sam these days.

Sure enough Sam's shoulders stiffened, "A what?" He asked warily.

"Big baby." Dean improvised.

"Shut up, Dean." Sam muttered darkly, shoulders slumping again.

Dean wheeled him out of his room and down the hospital halls, the nurse followed beside him. Staff members that they had become increasingly familiar with waved and called out there goodbyes and good lucks. Some of them passed close bye, giving Sam's shoulder a squeeze or a brief pat on the back. Dean didn't miss that Sam flinched every single time some one touched him. In fact the farther they walked, the more Sam seemed to slump down in the wheelchair, trying to make himself and small as possible. Given his size, it wasn't working too well, it just made him look awkward and increasingly uncomfortable.

Once outside, Dean relinquished control of the chair to the nurse so that he could bring the Impala around. He supposed he would have to trust that nothing bad would happen in the two minutes it would take to do that. Molly, the nurse assured him that they would be fine. Of course, it was easy to see that Molly had a thing for Sam, the way she looked at him. Something in Dean growled in response, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive now that they were getting back on the road. Dean was glad he could see the front of the hospital from where he parked. Though he found that he had to practically force himself not to walk backwards just to keep Sam in his sight.

When Dean got back to the entrance he hopped out and opened the passenger door. Sam who had gotten up, rolled his eyes and muttered something about being able to open the door for himself. Before Sam could get into the Impala, Molly gave him a gentle hug, whispering words of encouragement. Sam held himself stiffly in her arms, grimacing behind her back. When she let go and stepped back he gave her and awkward smile and nod then got quickly into the car, Dean slamming the door shut behind him.

After giving her much the same smile and nod and a murmured thanks as he walked back around to the drivers side, grateful to be getting out of this place at last.

They were finally moving, driving away from the hospital, from this city, from everything. The atmosphere in the car remained heavy though, Sam stared out the windshield, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"You okay?" Dean asked, thinking of the medications he now had, at least one was for pain. If that wasn't enough, they had stronger stuff in the first aid kit.

After a long moment, Sam said quietly, "All those people . . . I didn't realize how many knew us . . . knew _me_." He took a deep breath and spoke in an almost whisper, "They know what happened."

"Hey," Dean slowed the car as they approached a stop sign, he reached out and squeezed Sam's forearm, "don't worry about it. Probably won't even see those people ever again."

Sam sighed and rested his head against the window, "I know," he said softly. "It still kinda bothers me, y'know?"

Dean patted his arm somewhat awkwardly, "Yeah, I know."

Moving his hand back to the wheel, Dean headed towards the highway. He was trying very hard not to notice that Sam had acquired much the same body language as he had the last time they were in the car; hugging himself and staring out the window blankly, trying to make himself seem smaller. Instead, Dean started to talk, filling up the silence with mild observations about the city they were leaving. Then he turned on the radio but keeping it relatively low. The farther away from the city they got, the more Sam's mood seemed to lift.

After they had been traveling for almost an hour, Sam finally asked, "Where are we going anyway?"

Ah . . . yes, a destination, Sam would want to know that.

"Hm?" Dean kept his eyes on the road, like prolonging this would do any good.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked again, oblivious to Dean's evasiveness.

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering, "I talked to Caleb a couple days ago."

It was interesting, Dean thought, how he could feel the tension building in his brother as if it were his own.

He hurried on, "Y'know - or maybe you don't, we were out there once or twice when you were still really little, he's got this cabin up in the mountains. Anyway, he said we could stay there as long as we want, he hasn't needed to use in a few years." Dean glanced over at Sam briefly, "I didn't tell him anything." He added hastily.

Sam relaxed slightly, "How long?"

"How long what?" Dean asked.

"How long are we going to stay there?" Sam clarified.

"A few days," (or weeks) Dean shrugged, "just figured we could use a bit of a break without hospital staff checking in on us."

Sam huffed in annoyance, "I don't need a break, Dean."

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly feeling suddenly aggravated. He abruptly turned off the road and onto the shoulder. Thankfully, the only other car in sight was ahead of them.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, he was tired and irritable and now he had fresh anger still pulsing through him upon seeing more damage inflicted on his little brother than he previously knew. He had to keep reminding himself though, that he wasn't angry at Sam. The fact that his brother had been disagreeable about the wheelchair and now about taking time off wasn't helping though.

"Did it occur to you," Dean began, looking at Sam who gazed back apprehensively, "that maybe _I_ needed a break?"

Sam dropped his eyes to his lap, his arms tightening around himself.

"Look," Dean said, trying to soften his tone. "I need some time, I need to think and you need time to recuperate, you're not one hundred percent, Sam. I'm tired, we both need some rest."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered.

Dean nudged him, "Hey, what did I say about apologizing? There's nothing to be sorry for, okay? I get it, Sammy, I do."

Sam nodded but his eyes stayed on his lap. Dean reached out and squeezed his shoulder. It hadn't escaped his notice that Sam never shied away from his touch like he did with others. After his discussion with Rachel he had been waiting for it, expecting Sam to start shrugging him off, he never did. Everyone else made him flinch, shrink away, he had barely been able to tolerate the doctor and the nurses where physical contact was unavoidable. They had been very good about things, very slow about doing anything and always asking permission before touching Sam and then explaining each task as they preformed it. It hadn't stopped Sam from cringing every time they came near him. Not with Dean though, he never tried to avoid being touched by Dean, in fact he occasionally leaned into a simple caress, welcoming the contact. It gave Dean and odd sort of feeling in his chest, like when Sam told Gordon Walker Dean was the only one who got to call him Sammy. Dean was the only one allowed to call his brother Sammy and now the only one allowed to touch him. Though he would like nothing more for Sam to get better, not just physically but emotionally and mentally, he kind of liked being the only one that his brother let in. Sam trusted him.

Without another word Dean pulled back onto the road. They drove in silence, mostly due to the fact that Sam kept occasionally dozing off. Damn, Dean really needed to get him to start eating more. He also needed to pay more attention to the road, a fact that was made glaringly obvious when he nearly rear ended another motorist.

Dean stopped for lunch, drive through again. He didn't need to even ask, he knew Sam didn't want to be around other people. He pulled into the parking lot to eat though. More so he could make sure that Sam would eat the fries and milkshake than anything else.

"Dude," Sam said after a few minutes, "stop staring."

Dean abruptly became fascinated in his deluxe cheeseburger, "I wasn't staring."

Sam smirked, "You were."

Dean shrugged, "I just want to make sure that if you're gonna puke again, you don't do it in the car."

"Could you not talk about puke when I'm trying to eat?" Sam wrinkled his nose.

Usually that would be Deans cue to rattle off a bunch of vomit related topics especially designed to gross out his younger brother. Seeing as Sam was actually eating, slow as his progress may be, Dean decided to refrain.

On the road again, Dean stopped for gas. One of those pay and the pump places so he wouldn't have to leave the car. Or rather he wouldn't have to leave Sam in the car alone. It actually didn't work out too well because as he filled up he realized he really needed to use the restroom. Dean thought he might have broken a bathroom break speed record in his haste to get back to the car.

It had been a while since Dean had traveled by himself. It had never been too unpleasant. He had his tunes to keep it from getting too quiet. Since Sam had come back to hunting, although he could be annoying like little brothers usually are, Dean liked having the company. That way, if it got too boring while he was driving, he always had Sam to rile up. Yet now, there wasn't much talking and certainly no riling up. At times it seemed like Sam was miles away and Dean was very much alone and it was somehow worse than literally being alone.

It was only late in the afternoon when Dean decided to stop for the night. He was exhausted, a week of napping in a chair taking it's toll. They wouldn't reach the cabin for a couple of days and they were in no real hurry anyway. Sam offered to drive for a while but Dean simply said he wanted a bed, a bed with a mattress and a pillow and a bathroom with a shower and free soap. Maybe a small part of him was concerned that Sam would drive completely off course looking for a job but as it was, Sam seemed just as tired as him. With a silent prayer that they could get food delivered to there room later rather that having to go out and pick something up, Dean pulled up to the office of the first motel he saw. He paused a minute looking at the nondescript motel thinking that perhaps it would be better to find a place where they had to go inside a building to get to their room instead of these rooms that opened directly out to the parking lot or second floor landing. Then he shook his head, this was fine, this would be fine, there was such a thing as being too cautious, wasn't there?

Sam got out of the car for the first time in front of their room. Every joint popped as he stretched out, then he grabbed his duffel and leather satchel with his laptop, quickly joining Dean at the door glancing around nervously. When Dean opened the door, Sam made a beeline for the bathroom, tossing his bags on the second bed. Dean automatically threw his stuff on the bed next to the door. It was something he had fallen out of practice as of late. Sam was an adult and didn't need his constant protection. At least that was the theory, recent events seemed to indicate otherwise.

"Dean?" Sam appeared in the bathroom doorway, looking everywhere but Dean, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Um, could I get that um . . . stuff from the hospital?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean opened his bag and withdrew the white paper bag, "the 'stuff', here." He tossed the bag to Sam.

Catching it, Sam nodded, "Thanks," he said softly, his eyes downcast as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

A moment later Dean heard the sound of running water. Feeling slightly awkward, Dean plopped down at the head of the bed, reached over and flipped on the radio sitting on the nightstand. He didn't pay much attention to what was on, only welcoming more sound. It's not like Dean would be able to hear what was going on in the bathroom with the door closed and the water running but hopefully more noise would make Sam feel better. Dean looked in the nightstand drawer and fished out a well worn phone book and started flipping through it thinking about what they could get that Sam could and would eat.

When Sam emerged a while later, Dean glanced up before going back to pursuing the phone book. Sam looked slightly flushed and uncomfortable, his eyes still darting around the room. He sat down on the second bed and began to rummage through his duffel bag. Out of the corner of his eye Dean noticed him shove the white paper bag inside.

Sam turned and gave him an odd look, "Country music?"

Dean looked at the radio, then cleared his throat. "I was thinking Chinese later." He said, studying the phone book, "Could get you some wonton soup or somethin'."

Sam shrugged, "Whatever you want." Taking is both his bags he walked over to the dresser, "Dude, we need to do laundry, or at least I do. I don't think I have anything . . . clean." He abandoned the duffel for the leather satchel.

Dean yawned, "We'll stop at a laundromat tomorrow." He put the phone book on the nightstand.

Dean looked at the radio finally hearing the music which until now had just been background noise. Pasty Cline's voice started in with "I Fall To Pieces" and Dean thought he should probably turn it off or at least switch stations.

Hearing something clatter on the dresser, he looked up, startled. "Sammy?"

Sam's face was ashen, he was staring at the radio, his eyes wide and mouth working silently as he pressed back against the dresser.

Dean rose slowly to his feet, sensing another panic attack building in his brother and fighting to keep himself calm.

"Sam?" He said cautiously.

"Turn it off," Sam whispered, his whole body beginning to shake. "Turn it off, turn it off, _turn it off, turnitoff, turnitoff, turnitoff, TURNITOFF_!"

He clamped his hands over his ears and dropped to the floor.

" _Sam_!"


	10. Splintering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'd like to apologize personally to Sam Winchester, I feel like I'm really putting him through a lot. So. Much. Angst. It's gonna get worse before it gets better, you all know that. Teensy tiny bit about the attack, few sentences is all, hardly worth mentioning, nothing graphic. And if you're wondering "Why Patsy Cline?" It's because I've seen a number of creepy movies where her music had been featured so now when I hear any Pasty Cline I get that creepy feeling.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Sam carried his bags over to the dresser and set them down. He picked listlessly through his clothing. His stomach felt a little queasy when he found the blood stained garments at the bottom.

"Dude, we need to do laundry, or at least I do. I don't think I have anything . . . clean." He abandoned the duffel for the leather satchel.

Nothing clean, nothing clean, all dirty, stained, tainted, like _he_ was. Sam tried to shove away the repetitive thoughts in his mind. They cropped up at the oddest moments.

Dean yawned, "We'll stop at a laundromat tomorrow."

Sam nodded absently, taking out his laptop, he needed a distraction. Maybe he could go back to that project of transferring all his father's research into the computer. Sam had started that just after John died but he was continually interrupted with hunts, he figured it would take months to finish. It would be something to do at least. In the end it would be great, complete with cross reference links, additional information that he and Dean collected, it would be a growing database. So much more convenient than searching through the journal, trying to decipher John's scribbling. He should scan the articles, photographs and sketches. It was probably a good idea to get an external hard drive to - to . . . _oh_ . . . _oh God no_ . . .

The laptop slipped from Sam's fingers as Patsy Cline's singing penetrated his thoughts. He spun around and stared at the radio that seemed to mock him from across the room. The song echoed hollowly in his ears, he tried to back away but he couldn't, his mind was getting foggy. Sam thought he heard Dean's voice call to him . . . Dean, he could help him, he could make it stop.

"Turn it off," Sam whispered, his whole body beginning to shake. "Turn it off, turn it off, _turn it off, turnitoff, turnitoff, turnitoff, TURNITOFF_!"

He clamped his hands over his ears and dropped to the floor.

 _Just make it stop_ , Sam thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut, _make it go away_.

_Sam can see the front of the van from here, hazy with cigarette smoke. The world outside is dark and cold, the only light is from the radio and the angry red glint of the cigarette. He struggles futilely against the hands that hold him down. Sam's arms are bound in front of him and there are too many hands on him, he can't get away, no escape. The music from the radio goes on and on but doesn't drown out the voices around him. Burning pain, ripping, tearing. . . the glow of the cigarette moves over the radio, the volume of the song rising as Sam screams . . ._

"Sam? Listen to me, Sam, I need you to open your eyes. Look at me." A different voice replaced the music and Sam hastened to obey it.

Sam could feel a hand holding the back of his head and the steady thumping against his palm. Dark green eyes gazed into his own and he tried to concentrate on the words being spoken, this was the voice that made the music stop.

"Breathe with me, Sam." It said, "Take a deep breath, c'mon, in . . ."

Sam gasped, oxygen flooding his lungs, the darkness that had started to creep around the edges of his vision dissipated.

"Good," said the voice, "and out . . ."

Air left Sam in a gust. He couldn't seem to control his own breathing and the voice coaxed him through it. Soon he knew that the voice belonged to Dean, the hand was Dean's, the eyes were Dean's, the heartbeat under his palm was Dean's. Sam wasn't in a van, he was in a motel, he was safe, Dean was with him and he was safe and he could breathe again.

"Back with me?" Dean asked, concern lacing his voice matching the worry on his face.

Sam nodded slowly, "M'okay . . . m'okay."

Dean released the back of his head but still kept Sam's hand held over his heart. Sam looked around slightly confused, he was sitting on the floor, Dean was on his knees in front of him. Why was he on the floor, why were they on the floor?

"What . . .?" Sam blinked up at his brother.

"Panic attack," Dean replied, still watching him closely and tried to smile. "Apparently, you're not a big Patsy Cline fan."

"Patsy Cline?" Sam repeated, confused.

"Yeah, a song came on and you, well, you kinda lost it there." Dean answered slowly looking at Sam as though he was afraid Sam would have some sort of break down.

Sam tired to think about what just happened but it all seemed a bit hazy. Patsy Cline song, why would that set him off? He'd been trying so hard to forget about that night, shoving every memory away in the back of his mind hoping that in time, he could trick himself into believing it never happened. Just a bad dream.

 _Dream_ . . . Sam thought, _dream . . . Sweet Dreams, wasn't that another Cline song?_

"Oh," Sam gasped, "it was playing in the van."

"The van?" Dean tried to make eye contact but Sam was looking around the room, the vague memories becoming clearer.

"Yeah," Sam whispered. "Patsy Cline was playing in the van the whole time . . . the whole time . . ." He looked at Dean then and realized what he was saying. "I don't want to talk about it." He shook his head frantically.

Dean released his hand and leaned back a bit. He had an odd look on his face, like somewhere between disappointed and relieved. He chewed on his lower lip for minute and then nodded.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean finally said, "That's okay, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want."

Sam sighed and looked down a the floor again. "I'm tired."

Dean stood up and held out his hand, helping Sam to his feet.

"C'mon," Dean said softly, "lets get you to bed."

Sam didn't bother trying to argue against Dean leading him to the bed, turning back the covers and sitting him down. He knew that the panic attacks scared Dean, even if he wouldn't say so and it seemed to make him feel better when he could take care of Sam afterwards. Besides, panic attacks seemed to take up a lot of energy, energy Sam didn't really have to spare these days. So he let Dean remove his shoes, listened when Dean told him to lie down, and let Dean draw the covers up over him.

Dean leaned over and smoothed back Sam's hair, "Get some sleep." He whispered.

Sam just nodded, curled up on his side and closed his eyes. Before he fell asleep he randomly wondered if this was it felt like to have a mother.

***S*S*S***

Dean sat on the edge of his bed facing Sam, watching him for a long time before he finally allowed himself relax enough to be able to lay down to sleep.

Those tips on how to help some one through a panic attack had been a help. Sam had gotten through it quicker than the last two times. Then Dean had been almost certain that Sam was going to open up when he started talking about a van and Patsy Cline songs. Then when he looked at Dean he got that wide eyed frightened look and clammed up again.

It wasn't as though Dean wanted to hear about what his younger brother had gone through. Truthfully, he could probably happily go through life never having Sam share that information with him. However, he knew that Sam would eventually have to talk about it.

It would have been better if Sam had some one else he could talk to but their lifestyle didn't really offer the opportunities for outsiders. John hadn't trusted anyone after Mary died, not even other hunters, so Sam and Dean weren't the most social people. Social to a point of getting information and not being complete nomads but not really the "making best friends for life" type of social. Oh, Sam had almost gotten there once, had his girl, had friends had a life. Then Dean came along and yanked him right out of that comfy normalcy and back into hunting.

Selfish really but what was Dean supposed to do? Dad left, went missing and he was alone, searching the globe for his father, he needed some one to help and there was a big wide hunting network out there that he barely even knew existed, people that he didn't know and didn't trust. Dean didn't trust them because John didn't trust them. He went to the only person he knew for certain could help him, the only one he did trust, his brother Sam.

Look what happened. Got his girlfriend killed, interrupted that kind of life Sam always wanted and never had . . . now this. This would never have happened if it weren't for Dean. Sam would have been better off without him. Okay, so Dean was selfish, so what? His family was all he had, all he could ever remember having. He'd never say this to anyone but he needed his father and he needed his brother and now Sam was all he had left. He was terrified of losing the one thing, the only thing left that mattered. It wasn't about John's orders to look after his little brother, it was about Dean having the innate need to protect Sam. And wasn't he doing a bang up job of that?

Dean tossed restlessly on the bed wishing that his brain would just shut the hell up for once. Surely Sam wasn't the only thing that mattered to Dean . . . he had the Impala after all.

***S*S*S***

The next day dawn bright but frigid. Sam wanted nothing more than to burrow further under the blankets and sleep for another decade or two but Dean wasn't having it. Once he started threatening him with a bucket of cold water, Sam reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. It was time for his medicine anyway. In the mornings he had pills to take in addition to the ointments he had to keep applying.

"I was gonna go get some doughnuts and coffee." Dean stopped for a moment, looking at Sam, then shrugged, "Or I could wait until you're done. We could go together."

Sam could very well imagine that he had a look of abject terror on his face when Dean mentioned leaving him alone in the motel room, while he was showering no less. Sam frowned, how much more pathetic could he be?

"No it's fine," Sam shook his head. "You go ahead. I'll be okay."

Dean didn't look convinced, "You sure?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded and tried to smile, "I'll be fine, go on."

"Okay," Dean nodded, still watching him.

Dean picked up the room key and walked to the door, stopping he turned around, "You sure you'll be okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Just go, Dean, I'm fine."

Dean nodded again, "I'll be right back."

Sam watched Dean leave and a moment later heard the Impala start up and listened as the motor faded away.

"I'm fine," Sam said to the empty room.

Sam took a shower, a very long, very hot shower. He just wanted to feel clean, not that he had much success. Outside the shower, he didn't bother wiping the steam off the mirror. Sam didn't want to see himself anyway. He knew what he looked like, thinner, bruised, tired. How could he still feel so tired after all that sleep? He had slept through yesterday afternoon and on through the night. He wondered if Dean had tried to wake him for dinner, if he did, Sam didn't remember it. At least he hadn't had any bad dreams, none that he could remember anyway.

Sam put on the same sweats that Dean had given him the day before. Still pretty much clean, can't get very dirty riding in a car. He wrapped his wrists in fresh gauze after putting the required ointment on them. It was a little awkward doing the right wrist but he managed okay. Sam's wrists weren't so bad anymore and he probably didn't even need the gauze but he didn't like seeing his injuries, it made things too real.

Dean came back and Sam couldn't believe how strong his feeling of relief was. He really needed to get a hold of himself. He couldn't go the rest of his life like this. Sam couldn't have Dean around holding his hand forever. Sam was practically afraid of his own shadow now. He needed to stop being so skittish, just square his shoulders and act like a man already.

Sam drank his coffee and picked apart a doughnut. He forced himself to eat most of it because Dean was watching him while pretending not to watch him. Nothing tasted good anymore, it was like eating cardboard. Most of his actions these days was just going through the motions. Shower, dress, eat, sleep, rinse, repeat. He was dreading the cabin, nothing to hunt, nothing to do. As though Sam didn't feel useless already.

They packed up the car and headed out again, only to stop a few blocks down the road.

"Needed to do laundry, right?" Dean said looking over.

Sam nodded numbly. It was still early in the day and the laundromat they stopped in front of wasn't busy. There were only four people. Two women and a couple. Okay, Sam could handle this. He'd been in a hospital for a week surrounded by people, he could do this. He'd eventually have to get use to being around people.

"You okay?" Dean asked warily.

Sam released a frustrated breath, "I'm _fine_ , Dean. You don't have to ask me that every five minutes."

Dean held up his hands, "Just checkin', dude."

Sam and Dean did their laundry separately. Dean liked to take all his clothes, throw them in a machine together and hit "super wash". Of course, Sam liked to separate his clothes by whites and colors and jeans. Dean usually had a field day with that behavior. As Sam separated his laundry this time, Dean stood beside him watching.

"Dude," Dean shook his head, "you are so g -" he snapped his mouth shut.

Sam frowned at him, expression guarded.

"Girly," Dean said lamely. "So girly."

"Yeah," Sam said softly, loading the first machine in front of him, "I totally believe that's what you were gonna say." He added detergent.

"It was," Dean said defensively, "in fact, when you were born, mom and dad thought you were a girl. Named you Samantha and everything."

Sam rolled his eyes, "I'm sure." He loaded the second machine.

"It took a very strong magnifying glass to convince them otherwise." Dean grinned.

"Funny, Dean." Sam sighed, "Very funny . . . hey, what did it take to convince them about you? A microscope?"

Dean opened his mouth before he fully processed what Sam had said. As it visibly hit him, his eyes widened and his mouth closed with an audible click. Then he smirked, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh that's good, Sam," he said, "how many months did it take you to think of that one?"

"Great come back, Dean." Sam said mildly, loading the last machine with his clothes and detergent before adding quarters to all three washers.

"Shadup, Sammy." Dean gave him a playful shove and Sam chuckled.

This felt good, it felt natural and everything seemed normal for just that moment. Then when they sat down in the hard plastic chairs, the feeling faded and Sam shifted uncomfortably for a few minutes before announcing he was going to wait in the car. He still couldn't shake the feeling of being too exposed out in the open nor get over the "everyone is staring at me" feeling. Logically, he knew it was ridiculous, no one was paying any attention to him but he couldn't seem to make the rest of his psyche to accept it.

When the laundry was washed and dried, Dean stuffed his clothes into his duffel bag and took it out to the car. Sam folded up his clean clothes and placed them neatly inside. Except for the bloodstained ones, those were shoved to the bottom.

He was just zipping up his bag when some one bumped into him. Sam froze, gripping his duffel bag like a lifeline. It was one of the women, well, girl really, that he'd noticed before he came in. She looked to be about Sam's age. Honestly though it felt like he'd aged about ten years in the last week.

"Sorry," she giggled.

Sam watched as a pair of lacy panties fluttered to the floor, "Whoops." She said and looked at him almost expectantly.

When nothing happened she bent over slowly to retrieve the garment and the snapped back up again with another giggle. "I'm _so_ clumsy sometimes."

Although Sam had a habit of being oblivious to flirting, even he couldn't miss the signals this girl sending. He supposed she was pretty with her glossy black hair and wide grey eyes. Although he could appreciate her looks, he was in no way interested. Sam wanted to get away but couldn't seem to force himself to move, he felt trapped.

_Can't move, can't fight and don't struggle so much because it won't hurt so bad if you stop trying to fight it, just let it happen and it won't hurt so much._

Sam felt his breath coming in shallow pants. This can't happen, not here, not now. The panic attacks were bad enough on their own, he didn't need to have one in a laundromat to solidify the fact that he was no longer fit to be out in public. Where was Dean? His brother would know what to do, Dean would take care of him.

As though is thoughts had the ability to become corporeal, Dean was suddenly there gripping his arm firmly and tugging him along.

"C'mon Sammy, we're burnin' up daylight." Dean ignored the girl and only paid enough attention to Sam's stumbling walk to make sure he didn't fall over.

Once they were in the car and driving again, Dean kept glancing over at Sam. Sam was sitting rigidly, his hands still clenched on his duffel bag, staring wide eyed out of the window.

After about ten minutes, Dean finally spoke up, "I know you're getting tired of me asking this. In this case I think it's warranted. Are you okay?"

Sam blinked for possibly the first time since leaving the laundromat, before saying slowly, "Dean . . . I nearly had a panic attack because a girl was flirting with me . . . does that sound like it's even remotely in the realm of 'okay'?"

Dean shrugged, "Well, from what I saw, she was kinda laying it on a little thick in there. Maybe that's what had you freaked out? I know how you can be with girls, you get that 'deer in headlights look' and scurry away so -"

"I'm so fucked up." Sam nearly whispered sounding shocked.

Dean's face scrunched up, "Sammy -"

"Dean!" Sam cut him off, looking at his brother with wide horrified eyes, "I can barely stand being in a public place and obviously I freak out if some one wants to talk to me at all. God, what's wrong with me, is this how it's going to be from now on?"

"Sam," Dean tried again.

"Stop the car," Sam said suddenly.

"What?" Dean started.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Sam said frantically, "Stop the car!"

They were still in town and Dean swerved into the empty parking lot of an abandoned fast food joint. The car behind him honked indignantly but Dean couldn't have cared less.

Deserting his duffel, Sam scrambled out of the car and managed to get a few paces away before his knees hit the pavement and he was on all fours. Dean hurried to his side. Sam made a horrible gagging sound but didn't actually vomit. He stayed like that for a few minutes panting, before sitting back on his knees.

"Sammy?" Dean reached down and touch his shoulder.

Sam looked up at him, eyes shiny and wet, looking miserable and disgusted.

"I don't want to be like this, Dean." Sam's breath hitched and his lips trembled. "I don't want to be this way."

Dean bit his lip, his own eyes filling with tears before he dropped down next to his brother, taking Sam into his arms, not caring about anyone who might see.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean whispered into Sam's dark hair, "We're gonna get through this. We're gonna make this right, you hear me?"

Sam nodded against Dean's chest, drinking in the comfort of his brother's embrace.


	11. Purge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Just to let y'all know, this chapter was really SUPER HARD to write. I really hope that I didn't go too overboard or that it's not too much too soon. I just hope nobody hates it. If you do hate it, be gentle! Yes, okay Dean is pretty OOC I think but considering what's going on, I think it's forgivable . . . maybe . . .**   
> **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this. ******

Dean was once again sitting up and awake in bed while his brother slept less than two feet away away from him. This time he had opted for a hotel, a little more expensive but having the rooms inside instead of exposed was the important thing.

It had been too good to be true, that was the thing. The day had started out with such promise which, considering Sam's panic attack the day before, had been unexpected. Sam had been making a visible effort, staying in the motel alone, which, in all honesty had been just as difficult for Dean. Going to the laundromat together. There was the casual joking around as well, the brotherly banter that had felt natural and easy. Then Sam smiled as he laughed, it wasn't the small smiles that he gave when he was grateful or trying to put Dean at ease but a real, genuine smile showing off his dimples and seeming to light up his whole face. Dean hadn't realized how much he missed that smile. He might have pushed Sam but what he really wanted to do was draw him into a hug. It felt like "before" . . . that's how Dean thought of it now, the "before" time.

So maybe Sam had to wait in the car for a while. That was still okay, he'd done great so far and when he folded up his laundry like the neat freak he was, Dean felt confident enough to go out to the car first and wait for Sam. As he watched from outside though, it happened. Little Miss "drop my panties in front of a complete stranger" bumped into Sam. Dean watched with growing trepidation as Sam's whole body went stiff and rigid. He was staring at the girl as though he'd never seen one before.

Dean's first thought as he walked up to the door was - _son of a bitch . . ._

His second thought as he walked through the door, watching her snatch her panties off the floor with a giggle was - _slut_.

That was weird, he didn't often think of girls as sluts, no matter how easy they were to get into bed. Stranger still, Dean suddenly had an urge to grab the little nympho and throw her through the plate glass window. That was definitely not his usual reaction to any chick, especially a very cute chick even if they were overtly flirting with his brother. It had to be because she'd deliberately bumped into Sam and didn't take the hint that he was extremely uncomfortable.

She was just lucky that Sam was his priority right now. Sam looked like he was headed for another attack and Dean needed to get him out. So he'd just grabbed his brother by the elbow and booked, making sure Sam didn't trip over his own feet along the way.

Sam hadn't had a panic attack that day but it had been a close thing. His reaction to the situation had seriously freaked Sam out more than what actually happened. What had Dean worried was Sam's demeanor for the rest of the day. When his brother had calmed enough to get back in the car, he'd just curled up into himself in the front seat, his eyes hooded. For the rest of the day the only time he spoke was to give Dean monosyllabic answers to any question he asked. Dean had even gotten Sam a couple of small meals that day, Sam had eaten them mechanically. Dean should have been happy to see him eating so much but he was too upset by how Sam was acting. When they got to the room, after Sam finished in the bathroom he simply stated he was going to bed and curled up under the covers, swiftly falling asleep.

Dean had wanted to take his brother by the shoulders and shake him, get him to snap out of his zombie like state. He just didn't know if that would do more harm than good but Sam's behavior was honestly frightening. Like he was giving up, letting himself die inside. Dean was not going to allow that to happen. So now, he was sitting awake, with Sam's laptop trying to find out a way to help his little brother.

He hadn't really found anything promising when a quiet moan from Sam distracted him. Dean turned, studying Sam's sleeping form, the only light coming from the laptop screen and the bathroom where the door was slightly ajar. Sam hadn't had a bad dream the night before, or at least if he had, Dean had slept through it. He hoped that wasn't the case of course, Sam often couldn't fall back asleep after a nightmare unless Dean was there making sure that Sam knew he was safe.

Sam rolled over with a grunt and quieted down again. After watching him for another minute, Dean frowned at the computer screen trying to think what keywords would yield the best search results.

Sam whimpered turning restlessly onto his back before moaning again.

"Sammy?" Dean murmured, watching as his brother started to struggle slightly.

That was Dean's cue, he shut down the laptop before sliding off his bed. Sometimes, all it took was a touch, a soothing voice to get Sam to settle down again.

Dean reached out and grasped Sam's shoulder before speaking quietly, "Hey Sammy . . . Sam it's okay, you're safe."

Sam jerked away from the touch in his sleep, "Nooooo," he moaned, "doooon't . . . don't touch me . . . get away from me . . . . stooooop."

Sam began to struggle in earnest and Dean realized he'd have to wake him this time. It was one of the bad nightmares that had him trapped. He grabbed Sam's shoulder to try and shake him but Sam's huge hand caught him in the chest and shoved him away. Dean stumbled back surprised for a moment before moving towards his brother again, he stooped down and laid a hand on Sam's chest. Sam's whole body tensed up at the contact.

"Sam," he said sharply, "wake up, you're -"

He was abruptly cut off by a blow to the face. His head snapped back and he fell back with a shocked cry.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cradled his aching jaw.

Sam shot up in bed, looking frantically around the room before his eyes landed on Dean. His mouth fell open.

"Dean?" He sounded distressed, "What - did I?" He reached over and turned on the beside lamp, Dean was sitting against the other bed, holding his face.

"Are you okay?" Sam swung his legs out of bed, Dean looked up at him and nodded, trying his best not to glare at his little brother.

"Did . . . " Sam swallowed, looking guilty, "did I hurt you?"

Dean almost rolled his eyes but instead shook his head, pulling himself back onto his own bed, "Of course not, Sammy." He hadn't really, the blow had surprised him more than anything. Dean studied his brother for a minute, Sam bowed his head, looking at the floor. "Must have been one hell of a dream."

Sam looked up at him, misery etched in his features, "Wasn't a dream though . . . more like a memory." He looked away, staring at the curtained window across the room. "I can't get away from them, no matter how much I try. They're just always there." His voice dropped to a whisper, " _Always_."

Dean wasn't sure if Sam meant the ones who had done this to him or the memories. Maybe it was both. At any rate, he was too distracted by the pain in Sam's voice to be relieved that Sam wasn't acting like a robot anymore. All his focus was now on trying to help alleviate Sam's misery.

"It's gonna be -" Dean began before Sam abruptly cut him off.

"No." Sam closed his eyes he spoke, he shook his head before looking at Dean, "Just . . . stop."

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion, "Sam?"

Sam sighed heavily, "Stop saying it's going to be okay because it's not."

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean tried again.

"Stop trying to fix it," Sam's voice started to rise, "because you can't."

"The hell with that. I _can_ still _try_ ," Dean lifted his chin stubbornly. "I'm your brother, man. It's my job -"

" _No!_ " Sam suddenly shouted, launching off the bed and across the room.

"I get it, Dean." Sam wrapped his arms around himself and glared at his older brother. "You feel like you have to make everything better because you're suppose to look out for me, you're supposed to take care of me. You're following Dad's orders just like you always did. But don't you see? You can't fix everything! This isn't just a wound you can patch up and forget about."

Sam paced the room and Dean watched him warily, unsure about where this was going. He could handle Sam shouting at him, hell, he could scream in Dean's face all day if it would help. He was worried, though, that Sam would have another panic attack. Nevertheless, maybe this would help, it was doubtful that Sam didn't need to vent some of his pent up emotions.

"I hate this," Sam continued, still pacing like a caged animal. "I hate feeling this way, I hate being this way. I can barely handle being in public with you so obviously I wouldn't be able to be out there alone. I keep trying not to think about what happened, like maybe it will go away if I do but it keeps coming back, again and again and again and I can't stop it. I keep having nightmares and flashbacks and if anyone comes near me I freeze up and I feel like I can't move. It's like I'm trapped, trapped in my own head."

Dean rose from the bed, listening as the words spilled from Sam's mouth, coming more and more rapidly. He wanted to comfort his brother but didn't dare approach him. Sam had been holding all of this back, he need to purge, to let out this poison in his system by raging about it.

"You know what the worst part is?" Sam yelled, "It's knowing that I should have been able to stop it. I should have been able to fight them off, I should have been able to take care of myself. But I couldn't, I couldn't do anything, I was so stupid and so weak. God, Dean how can you even stand to be around me?"

Dean stared at his little brother in alarm, "The hell are you saying, Sam?"

Sam turned tortured eyes toward Dean, "I'm _worthless_ , Dean. Not to mention filthy and _disgusting_. How can you _touch_ me? How can you even be _near_ me?"

Dean advanced on him incensed, grabbing Sam by the wrists, tugging him forward, "No, Sam! You are _none_ of those things, do you hear me?" He didn't mean to yell, he didn't mean to get angry but he couldn't stand hearing Sam talk about himself that way.

"No!" Sam wrenched himself away from Dean, "I'm all of those things and I'm nothing - _I'm nothing_!"

They were both shouting at each other now, fighting to be heard. Sam was becoming nearly hysterical. Dean wanted to stop and calm down but felt powerless in the face of Sam's self loathing.

"Sam, no, you don't -"

"Don't you get it, Dean?"

"- know what you're saying, it's completely -"

"I was _RAPED_!"

A stunned silence followed Sam's cry. The brothers stood and stared at each other in shock. There it was, the unspoken and never thought of word. It was an "attack", an "injury", Sam had been "hurt" but that four letter "R" word had never been acknowledged. Not between the Winchesters. Dean heard it from Dr. Cavanaugh and from Rachel but it was never spoken of around Sam. As though the word was somehow responsible for the act. If you didn't say it, if you didn't think it, it didn't happen. As long as you ignored the word, you could ignore the problem.

They couldn't ignore it anymore.

Sam dropped to his knees breathing deeply. Dean continued to stare at him, mouth hanging open, his argument forgotten.

"I was raped." Sam stated quietly, then turned anguished eyes up towards his brother, "And there's no making it better." His voice cracked, "It's never gonna go away." He dropped his head again, looking defeated and exhausted.

Dean had no idea how long he stood in front of Sam, it seemed like hours but it had to be only minutes. Slowly, he closed his mouth and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He didn't realize how numb he felt until the ache started in the center of his chest, slowly unfurling like a pernicious flower. Still, this wasn't about him, this was about Sam. If he felt this bad just listening to his little brother's pain, how was it for Sam . . . but what was he going to do now?

He lowered himself on the floor, directly in front of Sam, mirroring him.

"Sam?" Dean didn't get a response, he hadn't expected to, he reached out and lifted Sam's head. "Sam . . . I don't . . . I mean, I want . . . I need to help you but I don't know how."

"I know," Sam said sadly, "I don't know either. I wish . . ." he sighed, looking up and shaking his head, "I just wish that it could be like when we were kids y'know?"

Dean lowered his hand, "What d'you mean?"

Sam sniffed, "I wish I could just go to sleep and have you tell me that everything would be better when I woke up. It almost always was, you always tried to make sure that it was."

Dean huffed, trying to smile, "Yeah well, that's what awesome big brothers are supposed to do." He looked away, not adding that he wasn't doing so well in the awesome department lately.

Sam laid his hand on Dean's knee, "Thanks."

Dean looked up, confused, "For what?"

"Being my awesome big brother." Sam said with a tiny smile.

Dean stared at Sam, something passed between them in that moment. The pain in Dean's chest eased, a warmth settling in it's place. He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Okay, before this becomes Steel Magnolias," he announced, standing up, "I think we should get some sleep."

Sam nodded tiredly, letting Dean pull him to his feet. He tumbled back into his bed. Dean looked at him for a minute before coming to a decision.

"Move over," he said pulling back the covers and sitting down.

Sam looked baffled, "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" Dean said exasperated, "Move it."

Sam did as he was told. It was a tight fit, Dean squeezing into a queen sized bed with his Sasquatch sized brother. With a little maneuvering and fetching of extra pillows, he made himself comfortable in a semi-sitting position . . . and Sam's head in his lap.

"This is kinda weird." Sam said quietly, he made no effort to move though, the outline of his body under the blanket showing he'd curl up into a ball.

"Not really," Dean buried his fingers in Sam's "girly soft" hair that he'd normally tease Sam about. "I used to do this all the time when we were kids."

"Really?" Sam sounded astonished, "I don't remember that."

Dean shrugged, "You were only three - four years old then." He started to massage Sam scalp, "Mom used to do this with me when I couldn't sleep, so when you couldn't sleep, if you woke up from a bad dream or whatever, I did the same thing for you."

"I remember massages," Sam replied drowsily. "I don't remember being in your lap, not like this anyway."

Dean smirked, of course Sam would remember the massages. Sam hadn't laid his head in Dean's lap since he was six and he'd only do it then if he was feeling sick. The scalp massages though, continued long after Sam's toddler years. If Sam woke up during the night, he would often crawl into Dean's bed. Dean's hand would creep into Sam's unruly locks of it's own accord, it was automatic then, a comfort to the both of them. Sam only stopped coming to him after Dean graduated from high school and they started spending more time apart. That's when Dean started going on hunts by himself more often. Only now did Dean realize how much he missed this, missed being this close to his brother, cocooned in a world all their own, a world where Dean could truly protect his little brother.

He sighed, "You were barely more than a baby then . . . you used to make me play that story record over and over again."

"What story record?" Sam yawned.

"Y'know that record," Dean frowned, trying to remember, "with . . . the stories on it."

"Ooooh _that_ ," Sam responded then waited a beat before adding, "I have no idea what you're talking about, dude."

Dean huffed, "Y'know that one with, like those kids stories. Like the one about the kid and the tigers, they took his clothes, he ran up a tree and the tigers chased each other around in circles -"

"And turned to butter!" Sam finished.

"Yeah, do you remember now?" Dean asked, his eyes drifting closed.

"I think . . ." Sam began slowly, "wasn't there the story about Wynken, Blynken and Nod?"

" _That's_ the one." Dean continued to massage, "I used to have to play it over and over, usually we both fell asleep and the needle on the record player would wear down and Dad'd have to replace it. I don't remember how many times he had to do that . . . 'corse we left behind the record and the player somewhere in one of the moves."

"That sucks," Sam said absently.

"Mm," Dean agreed, "You cried for days until I told you that I knew all the stories by heart. Funny, I can hardley remember them now."

"There was Henny Penny too," Sam said softly, his voice barley above a whisper.

Dean moved his hand to Sam's neck, a maneuver sure to put him right to sleep in a matter of minutes.

Sam yawned again, "Henny Penny an' Ducky Lucky an' Goosey Loosey an' Turkey Lurkey . . . they get trapped in Foxy Loxy's den."

"Mmhm."

It was quiet for several moments, Dean thought Sam had fallen asleep until he heard the quiet voice once more, "They escaped in that version . . . the fox didn't eat them . . . they got away."

"I know," Dean whispered back, "I always remembered that."

"All stories should have happy endings," Sam sighed.

"Yeah . . . yeah they should, Sammy." Dean conceded.

Sam's breathing evened out and slowed as he fell into a deep sleep.

Dean's fingers stopped, brushing back Sam's hair one last time he whispered, "It will all be better when you wake up, Sammy. Promise."

Maybe it was a promise he couldn't actually keep but he felt he needed to say it anyway.

Soon after, he followed Sam into slumber.

***S*S*S***

In the early morning hours, Sam woke slowly, feeling very warm and comfortable. He opened his eyes when he realized that there was a very solid presence against his back. Rolling over, he was slightly confused to see his brother's broad back. That was until the previous night's events flooded his memory.

It was a bit cramped but Sam managed lay back and stared at the ceiling. It was odd, he didn't feel how he expected to. Actually, he didn't even know how he was supposed to feel. He thought maybe he would feel embarrassed or something similar about last night but he didn't. He felt . . . good. A little lighter, like a burden had been shed. Oh, he was still pretty messed up, he knew that. He also knew he still kept a secret that he wasn't sure he could ever share, not even with Dean but unbelievably, he actually felt better. Much better than he had in what seemed like a long time.

Finally admitting and saying out loud that he'd been raped had a cathartic effect even if he had a long way to go in terms of healing.

Healing?

Yeah, maybe he could heal from this. Sam would never forget, it would always be "there". He knew he'd never be the same again, as much as he wanted to pretend he was. It was like thinking he'd go back to college after killing the the demon that killed his mother and Jessica. Even if they had managed to do that before, Sam had just be deluding himself, he could never go back. Just like he could never go back to who he was only a little over a week ago (Had it really been that short of a time?), Sam was different now.

That didn't mean he couldn't heal. That made him feel a little hopeful about the future. Perhaps he really could be okay . . . someday.

Sam smiled a little and stretching, he turned over towards his brother. Definitely the most awesome big brother in the world. It seemed perfectly natural for him to sling an arm around Dean's waist and spoon up behind him. Dean meant warmth and comfort and safety. As much as he wanted to regain his independence, Sam needed Dean. At least for now.

Sam pressed his forehead against the skin between Deans shoulder blades. As he breathed in the scent of leather, old spice and a scent that was just uniquely Dean, he decided there were worse things than being dependent on his older brother. Right now, as he drifted back to sleep, he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be and no one else he'd rather be with.


	12. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you all so much for your reviews!**   
> **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean woke with the feeling of an iron grip around his waist. He almost went for the knife usually kept under his pillow until he realized it was just Sam, his arm like a vice around him. Dean should've been annoyed and should've been very uncomfortable squeezed into the queen bed with his gargantuan kid brother but he wasn't. Actually, he was quite comfortable, thank you very much, he didn't want to move at all. His bladder, however, had other plans. A quick look at the clock on the nightstand told him they didn't have to check out for another two hours. Considering last night, he didn't want to wake Sam yet. He looked at the arm around him, at Sam's sleeping face partially obscured by the blanket and tried to think of a way out of this predicament.

Dean hadn't really meant to sleep the entire night in Sam's bed, though with Sam's head in his lap, he didn't see a way of moving without waking him. So he'd decided to sleep with plans of waking up later and moving back to the other bed. It didn't turn out that way, the only thing Dean remembered was waking up at one point snugged up to Sam, his brother's insane body heat made Dean tug off his own shirt and chuck it to the floor before immediately falling back asleep.

A little experimental maneuvering and Sam finally released him with a exasperated grunt, rolling over. Or more accurately, bounced around a lot until he was facing the other way all while kicking Dean repeatedly until Dean nearly tumbled face first on the floor. Catching himself with his knees, he turned around seeing Sam now sprawled out, taking up the whole bed, feet sticking over the edge and seeming to still be sound asleep. Dean quashed the urge to grab his brother's ankles and physically yank him from the bed out of spite and instead got up and headed into the bathroom.

As he relieved himself he mulled over the events the night before. It had been emotionally exhausting. It was strange how one word from Sam had seemed to sap all the energy in the room. One minute Dean was irrationally furious and the next he felt drained and empty.

Maybe furious was too strong a word. Dismayed? Upset? Now those were too mild.

Dean had honestly no idea that Sam had felt so disgusted with himself. Yes, he knew that rape victims tended to blame themselves, yes he knew that they felt dirty and tended to shower a lot . . . speaking of showers, Dean padded over to the bathtub and turned on the facet for the shower. Sam spent a lot of time in the bathroom these days but he only showered once in the morning, longer that he used to though, Dean had noticed that much.

This loathing of himself, Dean hadn't expected that. Dean stepped under the hot spray of water after discarding his boxers and sweat pants. He felt a little ashamed that he had become angry with Sam over his attitude about himself. It wasn't Sam's fault, he had to remind himself of that just like he had to remind Sam of it. But the hatred Sam had expressed about himself, it was so strong, so raw. Dean slammed his fist into the tiled wall, what the hell had those bastards done to his little brother to make him feel like that?

Dean shook out his hand, it stung slightly.

Maybe he was a little furious. He was so pissed at those nameless, faceless predators that had dared touch his little brother. Dean had no one to direct that anger towards but he didn't dare bury it. You bury anger you can't do anything with, when that anger isn't going to do any good. _This_ anger he had to hang onto, he had to keep it and add to it with every one of Sam's nightmares, every one of Sam's panic attacks, every time Sam cringed away from people and he really hoped that Sam would tell him exactly what they had done before Dean got a chance to hunt them down. He wanted to use every ounce of that fury to kill those fuckers with his bare hands.

Although, he was worried about this animosity getting directed towards Sam, just because Sam was the only one there. This wasn't Sam's fault and he shouldn't have to suffer any more than he already was. Oh, he knew he'd never blame Sam for any of what happened. It was too soon to tell how long Sam's recovery would be but Dean couldn't see becoming annoyed if it took a long time. Hell, even if it took years, Dean didn't care, he just wanted Sam to get better.

So, in the end, Dean thought that if he got angry about Sam's attitude towards himself, he'd have to take that that and redirected it, throw on that ever growing pile of rage for those bastards that were dead and didn't even know it yet.

Still . . . there was always that one thing that was really starting to bother him. He had an inkling sometimes that Sam thought the only reason Dean was so protective of him was because he was just doing what their father told him to do. Reading through his journal, Dean realized that even John felt that he had instilled this protective streak in Dean. Although there was truth to that, the instinct to watch over Sam ran far deeper than his little brother would ever know. The fact that Sam appeared to not realize how very much he meant to Dean sometimes stung slightly but Dean always reasoned that he'd never actually opened up to Sam about such things. Chicks did that, not brothers. So he accepted that and maybe he let Sam believe it because he wasn't about to start pouring his heart out like a girl . . . that was Sam's department.

Okay, so maybe he should tell Sam how he felt. After all, he started every day asking Sam how he was _feeling_ and he felt like he'd been put through an emotional ringer lately himself. Much as he hated doing the whole emotional talk crap, he could do it to help Sam. Dean would do anything to help Sam, cry a river if he had to.

Just not today.

After his shower Dean wrapped a towel around his waist and went back out to the main room and rooted around in his duffel for some clothes. Sam was still sleeping, he'd rolled onto his back now and was lightly snoring. Once Dean was dressed he smirked and tossed his wet towel onto Sam's sleeping face. Sam jerked awake, sitting up and throwing the towel aside with a sound of annoyance.

He tried to glare at Dean but it was more of a sleepy eyed squint, "That towel is cold."

"I know," Dean shrugged, still smirking.

Sam huffed and laid back down, drawing the covers up to his neck, "Jerk."

"C'mon Sammy, get up." Dean said with false morning cheer.

Sam turned away, "No!"

How Sam could pull off sounding like a cranky five year old and his age was a mystery to Dean. He calmly walked over to the end of Sam's bed, knelt down, gathered the ends of the covers in his hand and then with a great flourish, ripped the blankets away, sheet and all. Sam made a sound like a yip and curled into a ball.

"Up and at 'em, Sammy." Dean barked.

"Dick," Sam grunted into his pillow, then with a reluctant sigh he sat up, "What time is it?"

"Almost ten," Dean answered, sitting down on the bed opposite his brother to put his shoes on, "So . . ."

Sam gave him a sleepy questioning look, "So . . . what?"

Dean cleared his throat and tried to concentrate on tying his shoelaces just right, "How are you feeling today, anyway."

"Other than feeling really annoyed with my jackass of an older brother, you mean?" Sam smiled, an honest to goodness genuine smile that Dean was coming to live for because it was like the old Sammy peaking through the pain and hurt. "I'm . . . good, I feel good."

"Okay then," Dean grinned back nodding, "Get a move on princess, we gotta get back on the road."

Sam slipped off the bed and grabbing his bag, he head towards the bathroom closing the door behind him. Dean bit lip thoughtfully looking at the bathroom door. That was another thing that was different, closed doors. In every motel and hotel they stayed at they usually (when they didn't feel the need for absolute privacy) left the bathroom door open, if only just a crack. Safety issues, you had to be aware of what was going on in the next room. Sure it was hard to hear if you were in the shower or something but it was damn near impossible if you were in the shower and the door was closed. Now Sam always closed the door and then would usually lock it. Seriously, _lock it_. Like Dean was gonna come barging in when the closed door alone was practically a billboard saying KEEP OUT!

Dean shook his head. Things were different now, they had to be. He'd just have to get used to it . . . damn he hated change.

By the time Sam was done in the bathroom, Dean was packed up and ready to go.

"So I was thinking," Dean began as they double checked the room for anything they might have missed, "maybe we could stop at a diner or cafe for lunch or somethin'."

He'd avoided looking at Sam while he said it. Trying to sound casual, like it was an offhand suggestion. When he didn't hear a response he turned and studied his brothers face. His very white face, eyes darting around like caged birds, biting his lip much too hard.

"Or we could just get some drive through again," Dean backpedaled, "Or I could grab something quick at a convenience store, no big deal."

Sam shook his head, "No," he said forcefully, "a diner. We can go to a diner, it's fine."

"You sure?" Dean tilted his head, not sure if it was a good idea and wondered why he suggested in the first place. He was pushing Sam too hard, what was wrong with him?

Sam nodded emphatically, "Yeah, lets go to a diner."

Dean nodded in agreement and forced a smile, "Okay, let's get going then."

***S*S*S***

In the end, they didn't find a diner but a restaurant. They ended up stopping at a rustic looking place reminiscent of a lodge. There was something about being in more wooded areas and closer to the mountains that places like these seemed commonplace. For some reason, it reminded Sam of huge stacks of pancakes and real maple syrup.

It was just before noon and judging from the cars in the parking lot, it was just starting to get busy.

"Y'know Sammy," Dean said, peering at the windows from the car, trying to estimate just how busy the place was. "We don't have to eat here, we could find another place if you want."

Although Sam didn't usually feel hungry these days, he'd heard the growling from Dean's stomach. They hadn't had breakfast this morning so they really did need to eat and Sam wasn't sure how far away the next place would be.

_It's going to be fine_ , Sam thought to himself. _Nothing bad is going to happen, it's fine, stop being such a wuss._

"C'mon," Sam opened his door and stepped out, Dean followed immediately after.

The inside was exactly what Sam expected. Very log cabin with exposed beams of logs, tables and chairs of dark wood that had the look of being unfinished. To further the look of a hunting lodge, there were antlers and deer heads mounted along with some old shotguns . . . country charm, alright. They stood at a podium made of redwood, with a sign asking them to wait to be seated while country music was playing, softly but noticeably in the background, underneath the rumble of patrons talking and the chink of silverware on plates.

Sam had his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, his hands balled into fists. As he glanced around the restaurant he concentrated on keeping his breathing even though, he could feel the ever rising current of anxiety. He was probably standing too close to Dean, who stood in front of him but Dean didn't seem to notice.

_Calm down_ , Sam told himself sternly, _no one is staring at you, no one is even looking at you . . . okay that baby in the high chair over there is but other than him -_

"Hi, table for two?" Sam jumped at the cheerful voice of the hostess making him further berate himself in his own head.

Dean flashed a charming smile at the busty blonde wearing a form fitting dark green polo shirt and khaki pants. Sam guessed that was regular hostess attire in a place like this. Dean said something that made her giggle and she grabbed a couple of menus and lead them to a free table.

He shuffled close behind Dean as they were shown to a booth against the farthest wall. Sam took the side facing the door, thankful for the vantage point. This mad it easier. Not only were they in a booth where Sam felt more ensconced and therefore, safer, he was also able to keep an eye on the door and a good portion of the rest of the room. Sam stared blankly at his menu while the hostess rattled off the list of specials and promised a waitress would be with them shortly. Though Sam wasn't paying much attention, preferring to keep an eye on the rest of the room, he didn't miss Dean craning around the booth to watch the hostess as she walked away, eyes focused on her swinging . . . hips.

Sam went back to staring at the menu feeling the sudden urge to put his head down and take a nap, right here on the table. He hated feeling so tired all the time. In the hospital, at first it was hard to sleep if he wasn't heavily medicated. As the days progressed he became increasingly fatigued. He knew it was because of his diet but it was hard to choke down food when you just didn't feel like eating and forcing food down was a good way to make yourself sick anyway so what was the point?

"Hey Sammy, check it out." Dean's voice interrupted Sam's thoughts and he looked up expectantly.

"Winchester rifle." Dean jerked his head in the direction he was looking.

Sam looked up over the curtained window they were sitting at and saw the mounted rifle. Dean seemed amused by the fact that they were sitting directly under something that was basically their surname and seemed to think Sam would be too. Sam gave him a small nervous smile and nodded trying to appease his older brother.

"Dad said we were related y'know." Dean said conversationally, looking over the menu. "Distantly, he went to that house that crazy lady built . . ."

"The Winchester Mystery House," Sam mumbled, it was and old habit of his to automatically recite information he had learned about anything especially if it was something related to the supernatural realm. "Built by Sarah Winchester widow of William Wirt Winchester -"

"Dude," Dean shook his head, "please don't tell me that you're going to bore me with facts about that house all through lunch."

Sam's mouth quirked upwards a bit because the truth was, he really could recite facts about the Mystery House through lunch and probably dinner too. He knew why it was built, when construction started, when it ended, how many fireplaces, windows, and bedrooms. The significance of the number thirteen and the spiderweb motifs.

Sam tilted his head, "It helps to distract me."

Dean peered at Sam looking uncertain. Sam could practically see the war going on in Deans head. Making his little brother feel better or not having to listen to a lecture about a house even Dean knew about since they were kids.

Just as Dean opened his mouth a waitress appeared at their table side, pad of paper in hand and a bright smile on her freckled face. With her chestnut hair tied back in a bouncy pony tail, she looked like she could be about twelve years old if it weren't for her stature and obvious curvy figure under the plain uniform dress she wore.

"Hey there," she said cheerfully, "I'm Tami, I'll be your server, how y'all doin' today?"

Sam slumped in his seat beginning to think it was some sort of conspiracy. Why is it everywhere they went these days had inordinately happy people? Was it too much to ask for just one gloomy or bitchy waitress . . . _was it?_ Furthermore, why had Sam gone from feeling nervous to feeling irritated in record time?

"We're good," Dean said with a smirk and Sam glared at him.

Sure, Dean was good, Dean was _super_. However, Sam didn't remember giving Dean permission to speak for him. Sam was not good, he was tired and cranky and sick of shiny, happy people dammit!

"How are _you_ doin' today?" Dean said, giving her an appreciative once over.

"I'm just fine, sir, thank you." Tami giggled and blushed prettily, "Are y'all ready to order?"

Dean looked across at Sam, his smile faltering for just a moment before looking back up at the waitress, "Give us a few more minutes, sweetheart."

"Sure," she nodded, "can I get you something to drink in the meantime?"

"Coke," Dean said automatically, "Sammy?"

"Hm?" Sam said, unaware that he wasn't even paying attention to what was being said, just glaring across the booth at Dean.

"Drink?" Dean said.

"Diet," Sam said shortly.

"Okay," Tami said, seemingly unaware of Sam's temper, "I'll be right back with those."

Dean winked at her, "Thanks, darlin'." Sam rolled his eyes.

After Tami left, Dean turned to Sam, "What's up?"

Sam blinked, "What?"

Dean looked exasperated, "Dude, if looks could kill, I'd be sticky patch on the floor. What's up with you?"

Sam shrugged, deciding to go by the old standby excuse, "Nothing . . . I'm just tired."

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes, "Right," he shook his head with a long suffering sigh and looked down at his menu. "Whatever . . . d'you know what you want?"

Sam frowned at the menu in front of him. It didn't really matter to him what he ate anymore, nothing tasted good and what difference did it make if it was healthy or not?

"I'll just get whatever you do," Sam sighed wearily.

"Hey, Sam," Dean nudged his foot under the table. "Talk to me."

Sam raised his eyebrows, that was a new one. He just shook his head, mood swings were exhausting, hell even thinking was exhausting these days.

Dean was still looking at him intently,

"Nothing," Sam insisted, "it's nothing, I'm fine . . . really."

Dean looked doubtful but thankfully let it go.

Tami came back with their drinks and a glass of ice water each and took their order, Dean going with the typical cheeseburger and fries, extra onions. Sam wrinkled his nose and emphasized _no onions_ on his own. When she left again, Dean tried to fill up the quiet. He talked about the cars in the lot, the antlers on the walls, the other guns, he drummed on the table top. Sam didn't mind, this type of activity only annoyed him when he was trying to research something. Any other time, he was used to it, just one other thing that made Dean who he was.

Their food came and Dean plowed through his meal as usual. Sam chewed slowly, methodically, trying not to choke on food that no longer tasted of anything. Dean kept trying to covertly watch him, not that he was very successful at the "covert" part.

It was going well, the mood swing had actually helped Sam relax a little. Though he kept glancing around from time to time he wasn't feeling as uneasy as before. It was solidifying Sam's thought that he could really learn to deal with everything and move forward.

So, with Winchester luck, what happened next should have been no surprise . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Evil, evil cliffy!!!!**


	13. Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I want to know how I'm doing and how this chapter makes you feel! (Two points if at any point ANY of you SQUEE! Five if you cry.) Some notes on this chapter, it's kind of repetitive, I kinda feel like Dean's being OOC yet again but kind of forced into it, WARNING: short rape flashback but NOTHING GRAPHIC, and it's kind of repetitive . . . (ucwidt?)  
> **  
>  I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.

Things were going much better than Sam had expected. He was really okay being here in a restaurant like nothing had ever happened to him. Mood swing aside, he really was feeling like he could be a whole person again.

Which is exactly why, towards the end of lunch, things fell apart completely.

Sam had eaten half the cheeseburger he'd gotten and still picking through his fries. Dean was saying that he hoped they had pie. It could have been just another day on the road for them.

Sam pushed away his plate and turned to stare out the window. It was a few minutes before he heard it. The place had gotten much busier since they had arrived, the lunch crowd coming on full force now, which explained why Sam hadn't noticed it at first. Once he did though, it was the only thing he could hear.

_. . . for feeling so lonely_

_I'm crazy_

_Crazy for feeling so blue_

_I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted_

_And then someday_

_You'd leave me for somebody new_

Air, he couldn't get enough air. Everything inside him screamed for him to run, to get away, to hide, do anything to protect himself. Sam scrambled sideways on the seat, pressing himself into the corner, knees brought up to his chest to shield himself. He pressed his face into his legs and clamped his hands over his ears even as he heard his name being shouted.

 _No no no_ , Sam thoughts cried, _not again, not again, make it stop!_

_Sam's trying not to cry, just like he had tried not scream the first time but it's not working, tears of humiliation and shame and pain run down his face. Hands on his legs, his ankles, his shoulders, he can barely move. He keeps struggling weakly, like it's going to help, all it does it make the pain worse and he whimpers. The grip on Sam's shoulders tighten._

_"Sssshhhh," comes a hushed voice from behind, "don't struggle. It won't hurt so bad if you stop trying to fight it, just let it happen and it won't hurt so much."_

_"Fuck you," Sam grunts out painfully, wishing he had the breath to scream it._

_The voice behind him chuckles darkly, "No, no, no my pretty little bitch," it breathes in his ear._

_A hand leaves his shoulder and grips his hair, Sam hisses as his head is pulled back, and the voice whispers, " **I'm** the one fucking **you** ," a sudden jolt as hips snap forward, Sam cries out, "remember?"_

Sam felt some one grab his wrists, tugging his hands away from his ears.

"Look at me, Sam!"

Sam tried to open his eyes but the music was still going. He shook his head frantically, he couldn't risk it, if he looked he was sure to see the inside of a dark, smoke filled van.

He heard a muttered curse, shuffling, there was some one babbling nearby but all Sam could focus on was the music that just played on and on and on.

Then someone grabbed his forearms and tugged him forward and he tried to pull away, "Sam I need you to listen to me," a voice said above the music.

"Make it stop," Sam said in a small trembling voice.

"I will, I will, Sammy." The voice hastened to assure him, "I need you to trust me, Sam, let me help you, can you do that?"

Sam nodded jerkily not feeling he had much of a choice.

"C'mon, Sammy." The voice said softly, tugging him forward again.

This time Sam allowed himself to be pulled forward. He felt the edge of the seat and let his legs drop to the floor. Then his left arm was pulled up and placed on a shoulder as he felt another arm circle around his waist. Sam was hauled up against a solid warm body and he went slightly stiff at the contact and whimpered.

"It's okay, Sammy." The voice whispered close to his ear. "I got you little brother."

_Brother . . . Dean . . ._

Sam gripped the shoulder under his palm tightly. He felt himself being half guided, half dragged but he kept his eyes closed, too afraid to look and see. The music was still playing, then faded, then stopped and Sam felt cold concrete as he was maneuvered down into a sitting position.

All at once it was the familiar feeling of a hand cupping his head, green eyes staring into his, a heart beating under his palm and a voice guiding him through breathing until he calmed enough to do it on his own.

"There we go," Dean said soothingly, moving his hand to frame Sam's face.

Sam didn't realize he was crying until Dean was wiping away the tears on his cheeks with his thumbs.

"M'sorry," Sam said quietly between hitching breaths. "M'sorry, s - so sorry."

Dean closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, shaking his head lowering his hands. Sam looked down, ashamed of himself. He had been doing so well. Sure he had been nervous and anxious that morphed into irritated and annoyed with a weird mood swing but all in all, he had been okay. Unlike the last time, Sam could remember exactly what had happened to set him off this time. Though, looking around, he didn't remember how he came to be sitting on the curb outside the restaurant.

Dean gently grasped Sam's biceps and pulled, "C'mon, Sammy," He said softly, "Let's get you back in the car, huh? We need to get outta here, I think maybe Punky Brewster and friends called an ambulance or somethin'."

Sam let himself be hauled to his feet and led to the Impala where he folded himself inside, wrapping his arms around himself and huddled against the door. He felt utterly miserable and worn out. He also felt like he just ruined Thanksgiving dinner and poor Dean didn't even get any pie.

***S*S*S***

Although Dean had doubts beforehand, he had been really impressed with how well Sam had been coping in the restaurant. Sam stood closer to Dean, hunched down a little too much in his seat and maybe he got a little pissy for no reason but overall, he had been doing good. Sam even managed to eat most of the food on his plate. It was real progress and Dean couldn't help the hope and pride that rose in his chest.

Then Patsy fucking Cline came along and effectively squashed it all down.

His fault really, as soon as he heard the country music being pumped through the speaker system of the restaurant, he should have turned right around and left, taking Sam with him. However, Dean was hungry and though Sam always complained that he wasn't, Dean needed his kid brother to eat so they stayed. It's not like country music had ever been a problem before and it wasn't really country music in general it was Patsy Cline. Really, what were the chances?

Oh right, they were Winchesters weren't they?

Stupid mistake, never again!

All Dean wanted was some pie, that's it. They could have left ten minutes before, it was clear Sam was pretty much done with his food. Still, Dean hadn't had a decent piece of pie in a while and he really, really wanted one. It happened while he was looking for the waitress. Dean hadn't heard the music, he heard a choked sound from across the table and turned in time to see Sam pressing himself into the corner of the booth and curling up into himself, hands clapping over his ears, sounding like he was hyperventilating.

"Sam?" Dean yelled then almost lunged over the table towards him, " _Sam!_ "

As he scurried around to Sam's side of the table, that's when Dean finally heard the the song playing, mostly because the restaurant was starting to get really quiet.

"Omigod," the waitress, Tami showed up, "is he okay?"

Dean didn't even acknowledge her, anyone with any common sense could see that Sam was far from alright. He reached out and gently but firmly pried Sam's hands away from his ears.

"Look at me, Sam!" Dean demanded though he knew to help his brother, he had to get him out of this booth.

Sam shook his head violently and Dean cursed, he had to get Sam out of there now. The whole restaurant was quiet now, nothing but the music playing and their waitress babbling in the background.

"Is he having some sort of fit? An allergic reaction? Should we call 911?" Tami was yammering on and on. She sounded close to panic herself.

Dean clenched his jaw and ignored her, ignored the gathering crowd around him and his brother and the hostess who was now joining the throng, adding her suggestions to the situation.

Dean took a second to fish out his wallet and throw a few bills on the table, he didn't need anyone coming after him over an unpaid tab, he had to take Sam and leave as quickly as possible. Dean reached out for Sam again and tried to bring him forward, out of the booth. Sam whimpered and resisted.

"Sam I need you to listen to me," Dean said as calmly as he could.

"Make it stop," Sam said in a small trembling voice that cut Dean to the core.

"I will, I will, Sammy." Dean promised, "I need you to trust me, Sam, let me help you, can you do that?"

Sam nodded keeping his eyes squeezed shut.

Dean pulled him forward again. "C'mon, Sammy."

This time Sam complied, as soon as he was at the edge of the seat Dean put his arm around Sam's waist and pulled Sam's arm around his shoulders. He wasn't sure if Sam was too out of it to walk but he also knew he couldn't carry him fully. As their bodies touched, Sam whimpered and stiffened.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean whispered. "I got you little brother."

Sam relaxed slightly and Dean proceeded to guide him out of the restaurant. The small crowd that had gathered around them parted silently.

"Sir," the hostess trailed behind them, "sir, I think it would be best to wait for the paramedics."

Dean shook his head, going out the door, did they really have to call for an ambulance? It was just a little panic attack that's all. Dean almost laughed, though he suspected if he did it would be of the hysterical variety. Who would have thought that panic attacks would have become almost common place in their lives? Not that it didn't frighten Dean each time it happened.

Once outside, Dean sat Sam on the curb and once again coached him through the attack, got him breathing properly again instead of gasping at odd intervals.

Sam was crying this time, somewhat like the second attack he'd had but he hadn't cried until after it was over.

Dean cupped his brother's face in his hands, "There we go," he said gently, wiping the tears away.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, s - so sorry." Sam muttered.

Dean just closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn't think Sam would ever learn to stop apologizing. The thought scared Dean, as he was afraid that Sam would never stop blaming himself for what happened. Like the panic attacks were part of some cosmic order, punishment for some wrong doing. Like Sam could have ever done anything so wrong to deserve what was happening to him.

Dean looked back down at his brother. Sam was looking guilty, ashamed and confused all at once.

Dean pulled him to his feet, "C'mon, Sammy. Let's get you back in the car, huh? We need to get outta here, I think maybe Punky Brewster and friends called an ambulance or somethin'."

Dean got Sam into the car and then with a last look around, got in himself and started up the engine. As he pulled away, he hoped that if the employees really did call for an ambulance, the paramedics wouldn't try to to catch up with them.

Thirty minutes later, Sam was still sniffling, bunched up against the door. Dean reached over to the glove compartment and fished around inside until he came up with a handful of fast food napkins. Not exactly Kleenex but it would have to do.

"Here," Dean thrust the wad of napkins at Sam.

Sam slowly took them, "I'm sorry." His voice was thick and tremulous.

Gripping the steering wheel harder, Dean asked, "Sammy, how many times do we have to go through this?"

Sam hiccuped, "I can't help it," he blew his nose, "sorry."

"Sam," Dean sighed, exasperated.

"Look Dean I'm -," Sam stopped short before starting again. "I just can't help it. I never know what else to do but apologize. I mean, look at what happened back there." He sniffled again before adding quietly, "I don't see how you put up with it."

Dean shot a quick look at his brother before turning his attention back to the road, "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

Sam heaved a shaky sigh, "I don't know how you can deal with this all the time. Don't you get tired of it, Dean? Don't you get tired of dealing with your stupid kid brother and his stupid mistakes. I screwed up, now I can't even be in public without freaking out about something. Then you're the one who's left having to handle everything else and taking care of me like I was four again. That's not fair to you, I know. So I'm sorry, I'm sorry that this happened, I'm sorry that I've become a burden and don't say I haven't because I know I have. I'm also sorry that I made you promise not to leave, you would be so much better off without me around -"

Sam was cut off as the car suddenly pulled onto the shoulder and came to an abrupt stop. Dean turned fully towards him staring at him incredulously.

"Is that what you really think?" He demanded.

"It's what I know, Dean." Sam said sadly, another tear rolling down his cheek, "What would you be doing right now if I wasn't here? You'd be out hunting and trying to track down that yellow eyed demon. I'm not just dead weight, Dean. I'm dead weight that you have to take care of. I know you feel responsible for me, I know Dad told you -"

To avoid punching the interior of his baby, Dean turned suddenly and gripped the steering wheel tightly again, effectively silencing his brother, "Goddammit, Sam!"

Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. He'd have to talk to Sam and he couldn't let anger color what he had to say. It was Sam's continued assumptions that infuriated him. Sam was always thinking that everything he did was because of Dad, that Dean was always trying to be the good soldier for their father. As much as he hated doing chick flick moments, it was now or never, he had to tell Sam the truth.

"Okay, that's it," he turned back towards Sam, who was watching him warily, Dean moved towards him and Sam shrank back slightly. That, more than anything else, calmed Dean, he couldn't stand the thought that Sam would become afraid of him, not of the one person who could provide him with much needed comfort.

"Sam," Dean began softly, "I need you to listen to me and listen good 'cause I'm only gonna do this once, okay?"

He reached out, relieved that Sam didn't back away this time. Dean framed his brother's face in his hands like he'd so often done in recent days, bringing him forward. Dean searched Sam's eyes for a moment, saw the uncertainty, the sadness, the fear, the guilt and it all solidified Dean's resolution.

"Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?" Dean asked intensely, "Sammy, this isn't about Dad and it isn't some sense of duty. It's never been a job or a burden to take care of you, to look after you. I knew it was what I needed to do before anyone ever told me, it was _my_ decision, Sam, all mine." He rested his forehead against Sam's and closed his eyes. "Sam, you are _everything_ to me. Ever since I carried you out of that fire, you belonged to me . . . and I belonged to you. I need you Sammy, need you more than you'll ever know. Not because I'm afraid to be alone but because I can't imagine my life without _you_."

Dean opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to see the tears that continued to stream down Sam's face. However, he was slightly confused when Sam reached out and brushed his fingers over Dean's cheeks and they came away wet. When did he start crying?

"I believe you," Sam said shakily, forehead still pressed to his. 'It's okay, Dean. I -"

"Swear to God, Sammy." Dean said slowly, "If you apologize one more time . . ."

Sam gave him a watery smile, "No, I was just gonna say, I need you, too."

Dean wound his arms around his little brother, reveling in the warmth and comfort that he seldom allowed himself to indulge in because he never let himself admit how much he craved it. Sam buried his face in Dean's neck and let himself relax in his big brother's embrace.

Within the confines of the car, between the two brothers, was an understanding that saying "I need you" was the exact same thing as saying "I love you".


	14. Misty Mountain Hop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Sam eyed the cabin in front of him critically. It was mid-autumn in the mountains so there was a thin layer of snow over everything. The canopy of trees had sheltered the small structure so it gave Sam an unobstructed view of the place.

It was singularly unremarkable. The roof had some shingles missing, the dull red brick chimney rose much higher than necessary for the single story. The rest of the place seemed to made of grey, weathered wood and sagging porch had leaves piled in the corners where they had failed to be whipped away by the wind. The few windows were shuttered except for the one closest to the door, the right shutter hung crookedly on one hinge, the slight breeze causing it to beat an almost steady rhythm against the side of the house while the left shutter remained stubbornly closed. The part of the window that was visible gave no indication that there was anything but a black void on the inside. The whole place had a feel of disuse and abandonment.

"How long did you say it's been since Caleb's been here?" Sam asked looking at the forlorn little building, head tilted to one side.

Dean, came up to stand next to him carrying two full five gallon gas cans, "A few years."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he continued to look at the cabin, "How many years, Dean."

Dean shrugged a little too nonchalantly, "Two, three . . ." he hedged before adding in a rushed undertone, "maybe ten."

Undertone or not, Sam heard him and his head snapped towards his brother, "Ten years, Dean?"

"What?" Dean retorted, "Dude, we've stayed in worse places."

Sam sighed heavily, that was true. Abandoned houses, roach motels, the Impala (no, that's not fair, she's not a bad place, just cramped is all), there were much worse places to stay then an old cabin that had been in disuse for ten years. Unfortunately, Sam still didn't like the idea of sitting idle when he felt perfectly fine . . . aside from the panic attacks, the nightmares, the paranoia, the still sparse appetite, and the exhaustion that kept him sleeping for almost twelve hours a day . . . okay, so maybe "fine" was pushing it a bit. Despite all that, he had to at least put up a token protest.

"Right, so the worse places were falling apart completely but those were only out of complete necessity and we never stayed for more than 24 hours, Dean." Sam argued.

"This place has running water _and_ ," he held up the gas cans, "after I fill the generator, it'll have electricity."

"It's probably disgusting inside," Sam grumbled.

"Well I'm sorry princess," Dean rolled his eyes, "next time we decide to stay in a place that's been closed for ten years, I'll remember to call a maid service first."

"I don't remember being in on the decision to be here." Muttered Sam.

"Not true," Dean countered, "I told you yesterday if you really didn't want to come out here, we didn't have to."

"Seeing as we were almost here, it seemed kind of pointless not to," Sam reminded him.

"See? Always thinkin' there Sammy." Dean said and headed towards the side of the house.

"Where are you going?" Sam called after him but did not follow which was odd for him as he liked to keep close to his brother lately.

"To fill the generator, it's out in back," Dean called back. "Find the keys, they should be under the eaves somewhere."

Sam glanced around before heading towards the porch. Well, this was new. Sam didn't feel paranoid out here, of course they were in the middle of the woods in the mountains. It felt isolated but in a good way, like Sam could be out here without feeling exposed. Maybe being here wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Stepping onto the creaking wood Sam's eyes roamed the eaves hanging over the porch. _Old spider nest . . . another old spider nest . . . new spider nest . . . ah keys._

He reached up and gingerly fished out the keys resting in the corner of the eaves in a small plastic bag to keep them from rusting. What surprising foresight.

Brushing away the sticky web residue from the tiny bag which was just big enough for the two keys inside, he shook them out into his hand and went to unlock the door.

Naturally, it was very dark inside and the air that rushed out was both stale and smelled faintly of mildew. He didn't step inside since it was so dark and he hadn't thought of grabbing a flashlight. Instead he stood at the door and stretched, it made him wince as the stretching caused some hard pulls on the knots that had been forming in the muscles in his back.

Being as tall as he was, having to scrunch himself into a car for several hours a day sometimes made his back cramp up into hard knots like it was now. It was worse when he had to sleep in the car but usually as long as they could find a motel and with some regular stops, he was fine. Except lately, there have been very few stops and Sam didn't usually get out of the car for any of them, not unless he absolutely had to. Now he regretted not getting out to at least stretch because he could feel the effect it had.

Dean had been rather accommodating, though. Years of traveling together after Sam's insane growth spurts finally hit, and hit hard, Dean was well aware of how Sam's back could get if he was in the car for too long.

After the scene in the car yesterday where Dean uncharacteristically displayed emotions that most people who knew him wouldn't think that he possessed (and Dean would deny ever having), he eventually regained his composure. He had detached himself from Sam's embrace, complaining that if they continued with all the chick flick moments, he was going to grow a vagina . . . though he'd used a less polite term. It hadn't been all that funny but it had made Sam laugh and it felt good to laugh, once he started he found it difficult to stop. Sam laughed until he had tears streaming down his cheeks and apparently, his good humor was catching because Dean was right there laughing with him. After feeling so miserable and emotionally strung out for days, that fit of laughter had felt amazingly cathartic.

Once they resumed their trek to the cabin, Sam had fallen asleep almost immediately, exhausted by the series of events. When he woke sometime later, he surprisingly found that he was laying down. It wasn't so unusual, it happened occasionally when his body was uncomfortable enough to shift down after he fell asleep in the car. Sometimes, he found himself contorted into such weird positions he wondered what his body was thinking. What was curious was the fact that he was almost completely stretched out, save for being propped up against the door, and his feet were in Dean's lap. Also, there was something else that was odd . . .

_*s*s*s*_

_"Dean?" Sam said groggily, rubbing his arm across his face, squinting at his brother._

_Dean quirked an eyebrow but otherwise continued to stare out the windshield._

_Sam looked around in slight confusion for moment, "Where are my shoes?"_

_Dean cleared his throat and squirmed in his seat slightly before saying gruffly, "On the floor."_

_Sam frowned slightly, looking down at his side of the car to see that his shoes were, indeed, residing on the floor of the Impala, looking tossed there haphazardly._

_"You took my shoes off," Sam said, bemused._

_Dean persisted in looking resolutely ahead and attempted a nonchalant shrug, "Thought you would be more comfortable."_

_Sam felt a slow smile form on his face. Okay, so now the emotional stuff was over and Dean was back to his gruff, uncomfortable about having to admit he has feelings, self. So Sam sat up, gently pulled his feet out of his brother's lap and tried to stretch out the kink he had in his neck._

_"Thanks," he said simply as he too stared out the window. Anything more, even a look and Dean's moment of showing that he kinda, maybe, sort of cares about Sam's comfort when Sam isn't having an emotional meltdown, will surely make his big brother regret it. Sam didn't particularly want to listen to Dean's lamenting about how much of a girl Sam was anyway._

_*s*s*s*_

Sam was grateful for Dean letting him used his lap as a foot rest and even more grateful that Dean always seem to know when to put emotional drama aside. Alright, so maybe that was _all_ the time for Dean but still, Sam reasoned that with both of their personalities, they balanced each other out quite nicely.

The sound of a motor from not too far away shook Sam out of his reverie. Apparently, Dean got the generator started alright. Sam still didn't move from his place. It's not like he was scared of going into the dark cabin alone . . . certainly not, why would he be? Nothing to be afraid of, it's just an old cabin. Just and old dark cabin . . . really dark, almost black, like pitch . . . like demon eyes . . . but Sam's not thinking about that and he's totally not afraid of going in.

He also absolutely did _not_ jump and nearly yelp like a scared puppy when Dean's hand unexpectedly collided with Sam's shoulder. Seriously . . . he didn't . . .

"Goin' in, Sammy or y'gonna stand out here all day?" Dean asked before stepping up past him and into dark interior of the tiny cabin.

Sam didn't move until Dean found a lamp and flicked it on. That's when Sam released a breath he didn't know he was holding and took a step inside.

It actually wasn't as bad as Sam feared. It was a little dustier than he expected, after all, around 75-80% of dust is human skin (not going to say that out loud in front of Dean), no humans should mean less dust. Then again, ten years, duh. A quick glance around and Sam wrinkled his nose, cobwebs . . . lots and lots of cobwebs. Like, bordering on Dracula's castle cobwebs. He shook his head, of course there are cobwebs, they're in the woods, there are bugs in the woods, lots and lots of bugs. It made him think of Oasis Plain, Oklahoma and he shuddered. He never really minded bugs until that case.

The living room was to the left with a worn couch facing the brick fireplace, a coffee table that looked like it had seen better days between the two. There was also a cracked leather armchair and a wobbly looking lamp/end table hybrid closest to Sam, the one that Dean turned on. Sam was surprised it actually worked. Come to think of it they'll probably end up getting light bulbs, after ten years who knows how much life these things have left. Not to mention it was probably a fire hazard, he didn't exactly know how but better safe than sorry.

The light in the kitchen straight ahead went on. Sam saw his brother already looking in cupboards and the pantry, taking stock of whatever was there, what they might need to get besides the obvious. Then it really hit Sam that they were going to have to get things other then the necessary food, light bulbs for starters and also toilet paper, he couldn't even remember the last time he had to buy toilet paper. Even the skeeviest motels had toilet paper. They would also need to make this place livable and Sam doubted that there were any left over cleaning supplies lying around and there was _no way_ he was going to sleep with webs and dust in his face if he wasn't hiding out from the local police or demons. Well, at least they had plenty of "free" towels from over the years.

Sam wandered into the kitchen, "This place is filthy, Dean."

Really, Sam hadn't meant to say that, even if it were true, it just slipped out. He didn't want to keep complaining, he didn't want to upset Dean but he couldn't seem to control himself. The counters and cupboards were all covered in dust as was the tiny kitchen table and chairs.

Dean sighed, closing the refrigerator which had been left open, the insides all dusty and cobwebby, "It just needs to be cleaned up a little, use a little elbow grease, it'll be fine."

Sam shook his head mouthing "elbow grease" incredulously before peering into on of the cabinets, "Oh look," he feigned surprise, "an old newspaper, looks like the U.S. is starting to get worried about that Hitler guy."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Funny, Sam."

Sam sulked, leaning against the sink, "This place is probably crawling with - _with things_."

Dean looked at him in disbelief, "Seriously?"

Shrugging Sam wrapped his arms around himself, "It's making my skin crawl."

Dean sighed again and returned to examining the kitchen counter which had a number of mostly empty jars on it, "We could get a bug bomb."

Sam looked around, "Bug bomb? This place needs a bug nuke."

"I swear Sammy," Dean began muttering, picking up one jar that was half filled with some sort of foggy liquid. "Stop bein' such a friggin' pansy . . . hey, dare you to drink this."

Sam looked at the jar then at his brother, feeling a muscle under his eye twitch.

After what seemed like a long time Dean said, "What?"

Sam briefly closed his eyes and shook his head, "I'm just trying to figure out which one of us is adopted." Sam pushed off from the sink and headed out of the kitchen around the corner to the living room.

Putting the jar down and trailing after him, Dean muttered, " _You're_ adopted."

Sam walked through the small living room to the door on the other side and opened it. Flicking on the light in there, he could see the bedroom looked even smaller because of the king size bed inside.

"Only one bed," Sam said, feeling his brother come up behind him.

Sam noticed another door to the left of the bed and crossed over to it to investigate. He was relieved to find it was the bathroom.

"Thank God," Sam sighed, "I was beginning to think we had to use and outhouse and bathe in a river" After a moments consideration of the tiny bathroom he added, "River'd most likely be cleaner."

Dean plopped down on the bed causing a small cloud of dust to rise, "Guess we'll have to take turns with the bed, or I'll flip y'for it."

Wrinkling his nose Sam replied, "It's probably filled with bed bugs."

Dean gave another exasperated sigh, "C'mon, Sammy." He growled.

"Bed bugs carry _disease_ , Dean." He insisted, then as he turned around he added in a much lower voice, "Then again, so do half the things you take to bed with you."

"What?" Dean called after him.

Sam paused at the door and turned around, "Hm?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, "What did you say?"

Sam shrugged with a frown, "I didn't say anything." Then turned and marched out the door, smirking to himself.

It wasn't until he reached the front door then he felt something smack the back of his head.

"Ow," he turned seeing Dean just few steps behind him. "What was that for?"

Dean walked passed him saying innocently, "I didn't do anything."

Sam scowled after him as Dean went back outside before following, muttering about bullying big brothers the whole time.

***S*S*S***

There is a point after a traumatic event or during an illness you start to categorize the days. Mostly you think of them as good days and bad days. Perhaps there are in-between days as well but you can almost always sort them into one or the other by the end of the day.

Even though the day wasn't over and despite Sam's nearly constant bitching (or maybe because of it), today was a good day as far as Dean was concerned.

As Sam grumbled the entire ten miles into the closest town, Dean didn't think he could ever get mad at Sam for complaining again. It was comforting, as bizarre as it seemed to think of it that way. Just like . . .

_Like the before time . . ._

Dean was feeling a little nervous about this though. They needed to go to a store, a real honest to goodness store, not a quick gas station stop. Would Sam want to stay in the car? Would it be better or worse if he did?

It would be worse for Dean. He still remembered that for weeks after the thing with the Benders he didn't want Sam out of his sight for any amount of time. He practically had to follow Sam to the restroom when they were outside whatever motels they stayed at during that time. Sam never said anything but Dean was certain that he knew that Dean needed to keep his brother close to him. Maybe Sam needed it too, the incident had shaken the both of them, even though Sam was annoyingly smug over the fact that Dean had been worried about him.

However, Dean knew that Sam needed to start having a say-so in what they did. His latest online search indicated that Sam would need to start getting back some of the control that was taken from him. That's why Dean told him yesterday they didn't have to go to the cabin. Though, if Sam had said he didn't want to, Dean wasn't sure what they would have done. Honestly, if they just kept driving, Dean had a feeling he'd end up going back to where this all started. He couldn't put Sam through that, not right now.

The town was as rustic as the cabins that surrounded the place. Most of the people that lived in the area, especially during the winter, were tough, hunter looking guys. Not hunters like Sam and him but like big game hunters, guys that you figured hunted moose and bears. Basically guys that looked like Grizzly Adams but seemed a more aggressive and wore a lot more flannel.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the town supermarket. It was small. A small store for a small town he assumed. Dean frowned, they probably should have stopped somewhere on the way here, some mass chain store or something. Not that he didn't think this store would have most of the things they needed but small stores freaked him out a little. The isles were always tiny and the people that worked there usually stared at new comers suspiciously. Dean was used to being stared at occasionally but he didn't like the feeling of being monitored.

"Ready to go in, kiddo?" Dean said, still staring at the entrance of the place.

Sam gave and irritated huff, "Don't call me that, Dean. I'm not a kid anymore."

"I'm older," Dean turned to his brother, "So to me you _are_ a kid, kiddo."

Sam just pulled one of his classic bitch faces and it shouldn't have made Dean feel so elated but it did.

"Fine," Dean smirked, "if it bothers you, I won't call you kiddo anymore. Okay, Sammich?"

That only made Sam glare at him hard, Dean just grinned at him in a self satisfied way.

"Let's just get this over with," Sam rolled his eyes and got out of the car.

Dean was quick to join his side, "Y'know Sam, you don't have to do this. I mean, you can wait out here if you want to."

Dean started a silent mantra in his head of _please say no, please say no, please say no._

Sam shook his head and Dean quietly exhaled in relief.

"If I don't go with you," Sam said with a wry smile, "you'll come out with a week's worth of pie and maybe a couple of Hungry Mans or something."

"C'mon Sammy, I'm not _that_ irresponsible" Dean said leading the way to the door. "I'd get _you_ something too." After a moment's consideration he added, "Like a Lean Cuisine and pack of panty hose."

The punch to his arm was totally worth it.


	15. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Nothing really happens in this chapter so I'm posting it early.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

As Dean had expected, he and Sam were being watched.

The first person to watch them was a stern looking, older woman stocking a shelf standing on a step stool. She had looked a little too long over the tops of her glasses, peering at them suspiciously. There was the guy at the front behind the cash register. He didn't look stern, just aggressive. Then there were a couple of customers who looked at them oddly.

This was getting just a bit ridiculous. Okay, so they were from out of town, so what? Did they need to be stared at like sideshow freaks? Just two guys, picking up groceries and some cleaning supplies . . . alright, that seemed _really_ domestic. They were just two dudes shopping together. So maybe one of those guys kept really, really close to the other one, practically glued to the guy's side, so what? Didn't have to _mean_ anything, did it?

Fine, Sam _was_ walking a little close to him. Was that such a big deal? Just like he thought, the isles were really narrow and they were both big guys so they'd have to walk close to begin with. If Sam was a little closer to him than was strictly necessary was that really a problem? It's not like Sam had his hand in Dean's back pocket or anything. Alright, so maybe to the locals who looked like they ate nails for breakfast might not like it but screw it, they were _brothers_ , they shouldn't have to explain that to everyone all the time.

All this staring was making him uneasy. Dean didn't particularly care that people were staring at _him_. What he didn't like was that in staring at him, they were also staring at Sam. It put his big brother protective instincts on high alert and made him hyper aware of everything. He tried to take comfort in the familiar feel of his .45 tucked in the back of his waist band.

"Dean?"

Sam's tentative voice interrupted his meandering thoughts and he started slightly, "Huh?"

"Why do we have so much food?" Sam asked, eying there cart.

Dean blinked at the the groceries piled high in the carriage and shrugged, "We need to eat Sammy. Not like anyone's gonna deliver to the cabin and we're a long way from take out."

"But," Sam bit his lip uncertainly, "we aren't going to stay all that long, are we?"

Dean sighed, "I don't really know how long we'll stay, okay? It's better to be prepared."

"Dean . . ." Sam said sofly, trailing off.

"Winter is coming," Dean pointed out reasonably, "it's already snowing up here. There could be a storm at some point and we need to make sure we don't run out of food. That reminds me, we need to get firewood, lots of firewood. More gas too, we need to make sure we have plenty of back up for the generator."

Truthfully, Dean would have preferred a propane fueled generator but that wasn't an option.

After staring into the contents of the cart for a few more minutes, Sam said, "We need more produce."

"Could you be any more of a girl, Sammy?" Dean gave a long suffering sigh, "Whatever, just keep your veggie rabbit food away from my meat."

 _My meat_ . . . yeah, _that_ didn't sound suggestive at all so he had no idea why anyone within earshot looked over sharply at him. Also, Dean Winchester _did not blush_ so that must've just been a hot flash he felt passing over his cheeks.

When they were almost done and ready to check out Sam spoke up again.

"Dean, tell me if I'm still just being paranoid but . . . have people been staring at us this whole time?"

"You _are_ paranoid but yeah, people are staring," Dean answered him. "Look, doesn't matter, we're leaving, everything is fine."

The guy behind the counter was a different man than when they walked in. It was an older man, not quite so aggressive. He gave the two a once over as Dean started piling stuff on the counter.

"You boys from out of town?" The man asked.

Dean wanted to roll his eyes and say obviously they were from out town, or better yet, something sarcastic.

Instead, he bit his tongue and controlled himself, "Yeah, we are and we're gonna need some of that firewood you got out in the front there."

The old guy nodded ringing up the purchases, sliding them into paper bags, barely glancing from the cash register, "Where you boys stayin'?"

 _Great, gotta Chatty Cathy clerk_ , Dean thought, though out loud he said, "Up the mountain a ways."

The old man nodded again and continued to ring and bag. After he was done with everything from the cart, Dean told him how much firewood he wanted and fished his wallet out of his pocket.

Then the old guy asked, "How long you plan on stayin'?"

Dean was about to tell the guy to mind his own business but there was something about his tone of voice that stopped him. There was a certain edge, some sort of underlying threat. Everything was wrung up and he hadn't asked for any money yet. Dean didn't feel particularly threatened, of course but he knew enough not to cause trouble, the Winchesters attracted enough trouble as it was, no need to make it for themselves.

Looking evenly at the clerk Dean said, "My _brother_ and me aren't really sure, just staying a friend's cabin for a while."

The man looked over Dean's shoulder to where Sam was hovering. Dean fought the impulse to shift in front of Sam to shield him.

"Is that right?" The man said, then added in a much lower tone, "Brothers, huh? 'Spose that's alright then."

Dean flexed his gun hand but plastered a tight smile on his face. Perhaps it was the type of smile that said - _I hope you die screaming in a lake of fire_ \- but it was still a smile.

They were finally able to pay, Dean using cash. Fortunately, he had saved the money from the last few poker games he won so he was able to pay and still have plenty of cash on hand afterward. They would probably be here for a while, whatever he told Sam, so doing the credit card scam bit would not be wise. Though, there was no telling when Dean would have an opportunity to hustle some pool or play poker again for more cash.

Sam loaded the groceries in the back seat while Dean grabbed the firewood, which was in prepared bundles against the front of the store, and piled it in the trunk. When he ran out of room he put the rest on the floor in the back.

"Get enough wood, Dean?" Sam asked as the got back in the car.

"Y'know it's really cold in the mountains, Sam," Dean said, turning the key in the ignition, the Impala's engine roaring to life, "Even colder when you have to sleep on a porch . . . just keep that in mind."

Sam smiled slightly and fell quiet for a while, the endless bitching had come to a halt for now. After stopping and getting more gas at the local gas station along with some ready-made sandwiches, a bottle of water for Sam and a soda for Dean, they headed back to the cabin. Dean turned on the radio and received lot of static except for one local station playing country music. He turned it off immediately. Dean thought that Sam's paranoia must be catching because he kept checking the review mirror, making sure they weren't being followed.

"That guy get to you?" Sam asked suddenly.

Dean looked over at Sam who was looking down at his lap, "What?"

"The guy at the store," Sam said and started to study his hands, "he get to you? I mean, I think we both know what he was thinking. The way everyone was looking at us . . . I guess I get it . . . it's not like I'm all that subtle. I can't help . . . I just . . . I _need_ . . ." He twisted his fingers in frustration.

"Hey," Dean reached out and put a hand over Sam's to stop him, "I know, okay? I know." He barely stopped himself from saying _me too_. "That old guy," he shrugged, putting his hand back on the wheel, "doesn't matter. People around here tend to mind their own business anyway. Kind of like a don't ask, don't tell policy but they still like to gossip, we don't have to give them cause."

"Right," Sam nodded, "so no blowing each other in the middle of town."

Dean stared at his brother, nearly hitting the brakes before turning back to the road, "The hell, Sammy?"

"What?" Sam smirked, "Just sayin'."

Dean snorted, "Dude, that's just twisted."

After another long silence, Sam started to twist and fidget in his seat with an uncomfortable look on his face.

"What's the matter?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head with a grimace, "Just my back's been buggin' me today, s'no big deal."

Dean frowned and went over the past few days in his head. It didn't take long to figure out why Sam was suddenly having back problems. After so much time traveling with his gargantuan brother he had learned that Sam needed frequent stops to stretch out his huge frame. Since leaving the hospital, when Sam got into the car he pretty much _stayed_ in the car. Well then, chalk up yet another thing Dean was screwing up in looking after Sam. He'd have to do something about that later.

The rest of the drive back, Dean wolfed down his two sandwiches and Sam ate half of his one.

When the got back to the cabin, Sam took the groceries inside and Dean started stacking the bundles of wood against on the front porch.

"Y'know Dean," Sam paused on his way inside, "you shouldn't put those against the wall like that."

Dean looked up, "Why's that?" He asked with the air of knowing that he was about get a full education on why he wasn't doing something correctly by his all knowing kid brother.

Sam just shrugged, "It attracts mice, then they get in the house." He shuffled inside.

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered, " _You_ attract mice." He continued to stack the wood against the cabin wall.

***S*S*S***

When Dean was finished stacking the wood, he brought two bundles inside and headed for the fireplace. Sam was in the kitchen scrubbing out the refrigerator the smell of lemons was starting to fill the small space. Dean didn't think it particularly needed scrubbing, at least not with the vigor Sam was using, it was just dust and cobwebs after all.

Dean walked up to the corner where the kitchen and the living room were separated and leaned against the wall observing his brother for a moment before saying, "Now that's what I like to see, Samantha, a girl that knows to go straight into the kitchen."

"Bite me," Sam said mildly before looking up, " _you're_ cooking tonight."

Dean made disgusted sound, "Figures," he went to the counter and after checking in one of the bags before dumping the contents on the counter.

"Dean!" Sam whined, "That counter is still disgusting!"

"Relax," Dean began ripping the bag apart, heading back to the living room, "I need the paper, guess we shoulda got a newspaper in town."

"Probably didn't want me looking for anymore dangerous hunts," grumbled Sam.

"Right," Dean responded, piling wood in the fire place with crumpled bits of paper bag in between the logs, "because you can't use your precious computer to do that."

There was silence for a beat and then suddenly Sam rushed out the door.

"Sammy?" Dean called after him.

He didn't receive and answer and he stood slowly, he could hear the door of the Impala slamming shut and after a few seconds there was an anguished cry.

" _Sam!_ " Dean ran outside, icy dread clutching at his chest.

Sam was standing to the side of the car, his laptop open on the roof next to the leather satchel, he was clutching the hair on either side of his head, "I can't get online!" He cried sounding tormented.

" _What?_ " Dean's heart was hammering, he'd thought something terrible had happened to his brother and here Sam was whining about the internet.

"I can't get _online_ ," Sam said through gritted teeth as though Dean wasn't fully comprehending the horror of the situation.

Sam began to dig through his pockets desperately before he found his cell phone. He turned it on, held it up and made a choking sound in his throat,

"There's no signal," he hissed, then glared at Dean, "We're in the middle of nowhere with no phones and no _internet_."

Naturally Sam was more upset about the internet than the phones not working.

"Sam," Dean said exasperated, "I thought you were being mauled by a bear and I come out here to find out that you're bitching about there being no internet access in the middle of the woods."

"Bears hibernate, Dean." Sam said sulkily, putting his cell phone back in his pocket and reaching up to close his laptop, "I _wish_ I was being mauled." He grumbled.

"What's the big deal?" Dean asked as though he didn't already know how Sam was about having internet access at all times.

Sam looked at him in disbelief, "What's the big deal? Dean we have no internet, no phone, no television, no radio . . ." that, of course wasn't true, there was at least one station they could receive but as it was playing country music they would have to avoid it for obvious reasons, "What the hell are we supposed to do here all day, everyday? Stare at each other?"

Dean smirked, "At least _you'll_ have a terrific view."

Sam narrowed his eyes, "Why? You planning on putting one of those bags over your head?"

"No but I might put one over yours if you don't shut yer pie hole," Dean retorted.

Sam rolled his eyes before Dean spoke again, "Look, we got some playing cards, some beer . . ."

"That should kill about an hour," Sam mumbled.

"Tomorrow," Dean went on as though Sam hadn't spoken, "We'll go back into town, maybe even the next if we have to and you can find a local library, find some books, I know you love books Sammy."

Sam made a face, he loved books when he was ten. He got his first computer when he was eleven and since then books were mostly used for research that couldn't be done on the internet.

"Maybe we'll get some DVDs," Dean went on, "your precious computer plays DVDs doesn't it?"

"Of course it does," Sam said in way to suggest that him getting anything else was insulting.

"In the meantime," Dean headed back towards the door, "get back to the kitchen, Samantha. I'm starting a fire because in case you haven't noticed, it's freezing." He disappeared inside.

Sam took a moment to glare after Dean before sighing and putting his laptop back into the leather satchel and swinging it over his shoulder. As he walked back up the steps of the porch he wondered how long he could hold out before he strangled his brother.


	16. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
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> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Okay so I just want to point out that the thing about Dean after the Cassie breakup and Dean, Sam and the crib should be considered canon since it's in John's Journal, been waiting to use that crib bit really, it's much too squee worthy. Also, I include the anti-possession tattoo since this is AFTER Sam's possession so I'm just gonna assume that they've got them by now. I hope this chapter isn't to boring to begin with and too cheesy to end with.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean started lighting the bits of shredded paper bags with his Zippo. It was nice to light a fire for a reason other than burning bodies for once. He heard Sam come back inside, muttering darkly and get back to cleaning out the refrigerator so he could finally start putting away the food they just bought.

"Hey Sammy," Dean called out, "I'm gonna go get started on the bedroom, okay?"

Sam grunted in response and Dean rolled his eyes as he headed to the bedroom.

Dean hated cleaning, well, he didn't mind cleaning guns, he was used to that. There were certain ways to take guns apart and put them back together. When he cleaned a gun it was like his hands moved of their own accord, his mind getting lost in the rhythm of a routine so ingrained into him he could do it blindfolded.

House cleaning though, he hated that. It wasn't that he thought of it as women's work either, it just seemed like a whole lot of work for not a whole lot of recompense. He wasn't a stranger to cleaning, in the few apartments they had lived in when they were younger, it was Dean that did most of the housework, just like he did most of the cooking for Sam until Sam was old enough to do it himself. So Dean would do this, he could see the weariness gathering in Sam's face already and knew that he'd have to crash soon. The least Dean could do was make sure his little brother had some clean sheets to sleep on. Sam was welcome to the bed, what with his back acting up and losing his precious internet access, Dean figured Sam could use all the comfort he could get. Dean hoped that he wouldn't get any objection, like Sam insisting they flip for the bed or something. Sam got weird like that sometimes, like he felt like he was showing weakness by accepting things or favors from Dean when he was having a rough time. Thankfully, that side of Sam hadn't been too prevalent these days. However, Sam might still be thinking of bed bugs.

If Sam did want to flip for the mattress Dean could insist on Rock, Paper, Scissors. Sam was smart but for some reason he had never questioned why Dean always chose scissors . . . always. Every. Single. Time. Maybe it was the fact that he played up being frustrated at losing or insisted on doing best two out of three. Seriously though, no one chooses just scissors all the time, not when the person you play with knows that's the only one you ever choose.

Dean took in the stripped down mattress and tried to remember where the sheets and blankets were. Surely Caleb hadn't taken them with him when he left. Even the plates and pots and pans and everything had been left in the cupboards so Dean assumes that there were things for the bed.

He opened the tiny closet in the bedroom and smiled when he saw the large plastic tub on the floor, "Yahtzee."

Grabbing the tub, Dean placed it on the bed. The smell of mothballs wafted up when he opened it, not overly strong but noticeable. He wrinkled his nose as he shifted through the linens, there were two sets of sheets, three thick blankets, a couple of pillows and in the bottom there were even some dark green curtains for the windows.

Dean disregarded the curtains, he hadn't even opened the shutters yet, it could wait until tomorrow. He gathered the sheets and blankets and took them into the bathroom. Behind the bathroom door there was an accordion door where a small washer and dryer sat. The sheets and blankets were obviously clean but the moth ball smell wasn't conductive to a good night's sleep.

Dean double checked that that damned things still worked and the washer at least wasn't full of rust or anything else abnormal before stuffing the sheets into the washer. He went back out to the kitchen where the cleaning supplies were. Sam was now done with cleaning out the refrigerator and was carefully putting away the perishables. They really had bought a lot of food and also an entire case of beer which was sitting on the floor.

"Usin' the broom?" Dean asked and Sam silently shook his head.

Dean gathered the broom, a roll of paper towels, laundry detergent and some other cleaning supplies and took them back to the bedroom and dumped everything on the bed. He added detergent to the washer and turned it on before going back out the kitchen to snag a beer.

Sam looked up at him, "What's that sound?"

"Washer," Dean responded shortly.

"There's a washer here?" Sam asked surprised.

Dean took a long drink form his beer and nodded, "A dryer too . . . dude, no one wants to struggle through ten feet of snow just to wash some socks."

Sam sighed heavily, "We're gonna get snowed in aren't we?"

He didn't sound aggravated just resigned so Dean shrugged, "We might."

Sam scowled, "Yeah, I figured as much. You were just bringing me out here to get us trapped weren't you?"

He looked up at Dean who saw the slight quirk of his lips and the small glint of humor in his eye and Dean kept a very straight and serious face as he responded with, "Yes Sammy, I absolutely did. I wanted to get you here alone and have my lecherous way with you-" He stopped short suddenly horrified that he had overstepped some line that hadn't been there before.

Sam wasn't looking at him anymore but he shook his head, "Just get back to whatever you were doing, you're distracting me and I'm not eating anything out of this kitchen until it's clean."

Dean breathed a quiet sigh of relief, "Whatever you say, Sammich." He reached down and ruffled Sam's hair making him jerk away in annoyance.

Dean chuckled and made his way back to bedroom to try and get it livable . . . or sleepable . . . whatever.

As he cleaned he thought back to being in the store earlier. How close Sam had kept to him, something that Dean had only noticed because people were gawking at them. It was odd that he didn't notice as Sam and him hadn't really been physically close in years. Not since Sam was a kid. It's not that they never touched, they were always checking each other over for injuries, Dean especially. He'd inspect every last inch of Sam before he'd let himself be satisfied that his brother was okay. There was the occasional massage, it was part of such a physically demanding job. For Sam they were essential, riding around in a car so much made him susceptible to back cramps and if left untreated he'd develop serious knots that left him so stiff he could barely move. There was also the sparing and the occasional pat on the back, the general brotherly shoving and punching. Nothing so much as affection though. Hugging was saved for near death experiences.

Lately that had changed as so many other things had. Yet, for some reason, Dean hadn't noticed it so much. He suddenly realized that he was touching Sam almost constantly. Hugging, holding, touching, offering physical comfort. Dean told himself it's what Sam needed. Sam didn't like other people touching him, other people being near him. So that had to leave a person a little touch starved, right? Sam trusted Dean, he was okay with his brother being near him and touching him. Maybe it was also a little reassurance on Dean's part too. Making himself physically aware that Sam was there, that Sam was, for the most part, okay. That he was breathing, his heart was beating, he was solid and warm and _alive_ regardless of how badly Dean had fucked up taking care of him.

Although in the recent past, he might have felt uncomfortable with this level of physical contact with his brother, he found that now, he didn't mind. It was just one more new thing in their life and Dean hadn't even noticed it to begin with. The best course of action was not to analyze it or he'd drive himself crazy. Just accept it as they way things were now.

It turned out the bedroom didn't need very much work, after the cobwebs and the dust were cleared away all Dean had to do was flip the mattress over for good measure and it was fine. In the bathroom he took the sheets and shoved them in the dryer then decided that the blankets would take too long to wash and just took them back to the bed and Febrezed the hell out of them, the pillows too. Since he had finished the bedroom so quickly he decided to get a start on the bathroom while he waited for the sheets to dry. After he had taken down the cobwebs, Sam called for the broom and Dean met him in the living room for the hand off. The bathroom was small and also easy to clean. All the years that it had been closed up the cabin's only company had been a variety of insect and arachnids who had either died off or gone into hibernation with the approaching winter. Dean finished the bathroom and figured mopping the floor could wait until tomorrow, he'd make Sam do it.

When the sheets were at last dry and smelling much better, Dean made the bed, another thing he hated doing but figured he might as well. He put two blankets on the bed and one pillow. Taking a sheet, pillow and blanket with him he left the bedroom.

Dean tossed the items he was carrying on dusty couch and notice more wood had been put in the fireplace. He went into the now clean and lemon smelling kitchen. It was dust and cobweb free, all the surfaces washed and the floor mopped. There was even a dish drainer with clean dishes in it, and a towel on the counter with clean pots and pans. Dean figured that Sam was really serious about not eating anything that came out of that kitchen until it was clean. He wondered if Sam managed to sterilize the place too.

Currently, Sam was sitting at the tiny table, slumped in a chair and looking completely exhausted. Dean's heart lurched, this had to be his fault, he let Sam do to much. Dean cleared his throat and Sam looked up with tired eyes.

"Looks good, Sam." Dean forced a smile, "You look beat, you wanna crash for the night? The bedroom's clean."

Sam smiled sleepily and whispered, "Yeah."

He got up from his seat and grimaced as he stretched giving the reminder to Dean that he had something to take care of first.

"Hold it," Dean put his hand on Sam's chest as he attempted to walk past Dean, "how's your back?"

Sam looked away and shrugged, "S'fine I guess."

"Bullshit," Dean stated flatly, "Look, just take off your shirt and straddle the chair."

Ideally, they would just used a carpeted floor but not only were the floors bare wood with the exception of the kitchen and the bathroom which were linoleum, they were still dusty and in need of a thorough cleaning.

Sam wrapped his arms around himself looking suddenly uncomfortable, "It's fine," he mumbled.

Dean rolled his eyes, "C'mon, man. I know how your back is, you'll sleep better once you get some of those knots worked out."

Sam's arms tightened, "I'm okay. You don't have to . . . I don't need it."

Dean thought he understood, "Sam . . . look, I've seen your back, okay? I know what . . . what happened, it'll be alright."

Sam shook his head, "That's not it."

His voice had dropped so low that Dean had to strain to hear it, he frowned, "What's the problem then?"

Sam refused to look at him, his eyes darting around the cabin, "I don't . . . I don't like having anyone . . . behind me . . ." He whispered, "It feels . . . I don't like it . . . especially with my shirt . . . I - I don't think I can - can -"

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean captured his brother's face in his hands, Sam sounded close to hyperventilating, "It's okay, Sammy, look at me . . . I'm right here, calm down, okay?"

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, shaking only slightly. Dean smoothed his hands down Sam's arms, trying to think. He looked around and spotted his and Sam's bags by the door, Sam must have brought them in at some point.

"Don't move," Dean said and went to his duffel bag to rummage through it.

When he found some muscle relaxers he shook two out into his palm and then went to the sink to fill a newly clean glass with water and brought it to Sam who took the pills and swallowed them with the water without question. That got Dean to press forward with his request.

"Sam?" He waited until his brother finally looked him in the eyes, "Listen, I know this is gonna be hard for you but please, let me do this okay?" When it looked like Sam was going to argue, Dean shook his head, "I don't like seeing you in pain, just let me help you. If it's too much, if you really can't handle it, tell me and I'll stop, I swear I'll stop. You just have to trust me, you trust me, right?"

Sam searched his eyes for a moment before nodding slowly. Dean stepped back and allowed his brother some space. Sam began to peel off the layers of his shirts haltingly until he stood shirtless, the tattoo on his chest black against his pale skin. Dean was doing his best to keep his expression neutral but it was difficult when he saw how much weight Sam had actually lost, his ribs now well defined, stomach muscles diminished. Reluctantly, Sam turned and grabbed the chair he had been sitting in and straddled it. His back was still marred with the scratch marks but they were fading fast along with the bite mark. Sam had stopped wrapping his wrists in gauze, they too were still marked, a dark red angry color but they too were starting to fade, Dean wondered if those marks would ever go away or be forever etched in Sam's skin.

Taking a deep breath he stepped up behind Sam whose shoulders were trembling more now. He smoothed his hand over Sam's shoulders and Sam whimpered slightly.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked softly.

After a minute, Sam nodded slightly, "I - I'm okay . . . I just," Sam's voice was shaking worse then his shoulders, he took a deep breath of his own. "Talk to me, okay? Just - just talk to me."

Even though Sam couldn't see him, Dean nodded, "Okay, yeah . . . yeah I can do that."

It's funny how when you _have_ to talk about something, your mind usually goes blank. Dean talked, he spoke of everything that came to mind. He talked about getting chains for the Impala, he didn't like the idea of getting something as ridiculous as snow tires. Chains were more bad ass. He talked about hunts that he'd gone on when he wasn't with Dad or Sam. He even talked about how, after things ended with Cassie, he'd gone after every female monster he could, though he hadn't realized he was taking out his break up with her on every chick creep at the time. Slowly, he felt Sam start to relax ever so slightly beneath his hands. The tension gradually leaving his shoulders and his back. Dean kept smoothing his hand over Sam, finding each knot and working it until they let go, one by one. By the end, Sam wasn't trembling anymore.

"I think that takes care of it," Dean finally said, "How's your back feelin' now."

Sam stood, turning towards Dean, giving and experimental stretch, "Amazing." He gave Dean a crooked smiled and then without warning, he threw his arms around his older brother and hugged him.

Dean was startled but managed to hug back, he heard Sam whisper in his ear, "Thanks, Dean."

"Don't mention it," Dean managed, feeling slightly awkward.

Sam released him and quickly grabbed his shirts and then retrieved his bag, "You want the bed or . . . ?"

Dean shook his head, "Go ahead, take it."

Giving him a grateful smile, Sam disappeared into the bedroom.

***S*S*S***

Dean's hands were magic. Sam had decided that a long time ago thought he couldn't tell his older brother that. Not only would it lead to weirdness but it would also probably boost Dean's overinflated ego. Still, it was true. Those calloused fingers that could strip down weapons and put them back together so quickly, the same hands that held Sam's steady when learning how to shoot, it seemed like they had a map or maybe instructions, _something_ , to Sam's back. They knew exactly how to touch Sam, exactly where they were needed the most, they knew exactly the right amount of pressure to apply.

Sam never asked for a massage, he just thought that Dean would behave like an ass if he did. When Dean offered though, as though he instinctively knew when Sam needed one, Sam never turned him down. Not until now.

Sam trusted Dean more than anything. Dean would never hurt him, Dean would keep him safe. Knowing that allowed Sam to turn his back on him. Sam didn't like to do that anymore but he could do it around Dean most of the time. However, the thought of turning around for an extended amount of time, _with his shirt off . . . exposed_ , he felt like he couldn't. Not even for Dean, it was too much.

When Dean pleaded with him, when he promised that he'd stop if Sam got too uncomfortable, that's when Sam relented. He _did_ trust Dean and if Sam couldn't do it, Dean would stop. He didn't look at Dean when he took off his shirts, Sam knew how much weight he'd lost and he was afraid that he'd see disgust in Dean's face when he looked at Sam. Dean's first touch, when Sam couldn't see him, with the cool air of the cabin on his bare skin, the memories of hands on his shoulders, gripping hard, nails scoring down his back, were threatening to overwhelm him. Then Dean spoke to him and brought him back, reminding Sam of where he was, that he was safe, he was with Dean and he was safe. That was the secret, Sam could do this, he just needed Dean to keep talking. As long as Dean kept speaking to him, Sam could keep himself grounded and keep himself _here_. It worked too, the longer Dean talked, the more relaxed Sam felt and he could let his brother's hands turn him into the pile of jelly they usually did.

Sam was so grateful for Dean and the clean bathroom and bedroom with clean sheets was just a bonus. He went to sleep feeling content and loose and comfortable.

Waking up in total darkness though, no amount of liquidy feeling could make up for that. Sam had left the bathroom light on so what happened to it? Why was it so dark, where was the fire?

"Dean?" Sam called out fearfully, screw being embarrassed, it was too dark. " _Dean?_ "

A light went on in the living room, easing Sam somewhat, he just needed a little light, that would be okay.

Dean stumbled sleepily in the room in his boxers and a thin cotton t-shirt, how was he not freezing? Sam was in sweats and he still clutched the blankets to his chest needing the warmth.

"Whazwrong?" Dean mumbled before yawning widely.

"Nothing," Sam said, now feeling foolish, "It was just . . . dark," Oh yeah, _that_ didn't make him sound like the biggest wuss ever. "I left the bathroom light on but it's out now."

Dean, more awake now went to the bathroom to check out the light.

"Looks like it just burned out," he said walking back into the bedroom. "You want me to replace it?"

Sam shook his head, "It can wait until morning if you keep the light out there on."

Dean nodded, "No problem," he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around the room, "You wanna glass of water or somethin'?"

Sam peered at him curiously, "I'm not five, Dean. If I want a glass of water I think I can manage."

"Whatever," Dean grunted.

Then Dean was leaving, going to walk out of the room, leaving Sam alone. Suddenly, he didn't want to be alone, with or without light. Sam impulsively reached out and grabbed Dean by the wrist.

"Wait, um," Sam suddenly felt awkward but forged ahead. "Y'know . . . Dean . . . this - this is an awfully big bed." Dean looked at him expectantly and Sam continued, "There's really no reason we couldn't share it . . . that couch looked pretty uncomfortable. I just thought . . . maybe . . ." He dropped his gaze and his hand, why did he have to sound so pathetic and needy?

Dean gave an put upon sigh and left the room. Honestly, Sam couldn't blame him but seconds later he was back, pillow under his arm and blanket over his shoulder, "Move yer ass over, Sasquatch." Sam was only too glad to.

Throwing the pillow up near the headboard, Dean settled the blanket over the bed so that it would be covering Sam too, "Just keep those giant ice blocks you call feet on _your_ side."

Sam laid down again, facing Dean smiling softly.

Dean was faced away from him but still said, "Stop grinning like an idiot and go back to sleep."

Sam contained the laughter that bubbled in his chest, "Yes Dean." He closed his eyes and whispered, "Thanks."

Dean just grunted and that was good enough for Sam.

***S*S*S***

Dean woke up once more during the night. Sam was whimpering and groaning in his sleep again. At least sleeping in the same bed gave Dean the advantage of being right there when Sam had a bad dream. He didn't really mind, they used to share a bed all the time. In fact when Dean was only five or six, he had a hard time sleeping if Sam wasn't right there with him. That was when his instinct to protect Sam was strongest, he needed to keep Sam in his sight all times, needed to have him close to make sure he was safe. How a six year old was going to do that, Dean didn't know but it hadn't mattered at the time.

Dean put his hand on his younger brother's shoulder, "Sam?"

Sam rolled away from him with a moan, curling up into the fetal position. Another bad dream that Sam couldn't pull out of. Dean didn't like the thought of getting another punch to the jaw but he couldn't just let Sam ride out his nightmare without doing anything about it. So, he tentatively slid on arm under Sam, when his brother didn't react, Dean slowly circled his other arm over Sam's waist. Dean very, very slowly scooted closer and closer to his brother. Eventually, he was spooning Sam, curling his body around him as much as he could, arms around Sam's waist, pressing his cheek into Sam's shoulder. He was relieved when Sam didn't throw him off but Sam's body was trembling all the same.

It was as familiar as it was foreign. Dean remembered his father telling him that when Dean was four, right after the fire, every morning John would wake to find Dean in Sam's crib, holding him, trying to protect him even then. If Dean thought about it long enough, he could kind of remember it. He didn't remember getting out of bed and climbing into Sam's crib but he remembered being with Sam in the crib. He could remember fear, his mother was gone and he was terrified that his father and brother would be next. John was a grown up though, he could take care of himself, he could protect Dean. Though if he was protecting Dean, who would protect baby Sammy? Dean appointed himself to be Sam's guard, to keep him safe, no matter what.

"Ssssh," Dean hushed in response to a whimper from Sam, "It's okay, Sammy. It's me, it's Dean, you're okay. I'm right here, I got you."

Dean continued to whisper reassurances, as he became drowsy, words from a lifetime ago fell from his lips, meant to sooth his little brother back to sleep in a crib barely big enough for the two of them. Back then it seemed entirely possible that he could watch over Sam and keep him safe. None of it seemed strange, it was comfortable and warm and Dean felt Sam finally relax against him and fall silent.

"M'gonna protect you baby brother," Dean whisper as he fell back asleep, "Never gonna let anything happen to you, not gonna let you go."


	17. Wake Up And Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I apologize that this is short and kinda boring. Yeah, I know you're not really supposed to down talk your own work but after the whole massage and holding last time, I expected more to happen now but I guess the story didn't agree. It's mostly just about Sam bitching.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

It took a while before Dean actually began to wake up. Even with the lamp in the living room on, the cabin was still fairly dark, the canopy of evergreens and closed shutters made sure of that. The muffled sounds of chirping birds made him aware that it must be morning. Curiously, it was also kind of hot. For a horrifying moment he thought maybe the cabin was on fire. Dean inhaled deeply, thinking maybe smoke would fill his lungs but it didn't. Just the smell of Sam's shampoo. Finally, he opened his eyes.

Sam was curled up facing him, his head pressed into Dean's chest, still sleeping soundly. His arms were wound around Dean just like the first morning he found himself still in bed with his brother, the heat from Sam's body like a furnace. Well, it was nice to know that he'd never get cold while he slept as long as they stayed here. Without even thinking about it, he leaned back a little and gently brushed Sam's hair back from his face, smiling slightly. It was nice seeing Sam like this, his face so relaxed in sleep, his eyes closed so that they didn't show how haunted they had become.

When a contented sigh came from Sam, who tried to burrow closer to him, Dean realized he was still stroking Sam hair. Oh for . . . they were _cuddling!_ Dean Winchester _did not_ cuddle. He especially did not cuddle his _baby brother_ , not when said brother was well over cuddling age. After all, it's not like it actually felt good or anything. It's not like Dean was comfortable and warm and could probably happily go right back to sleep with Sam in his arms. That was just ludicrous . . . wasn't it?

Dean made an attempt to extract himself from Sam's embrace. When he tried to move, however, Sam made a discontented noise and continued his quest to bury himself inside of Dean's chest. Of course only Sam would be this difficult during sleep. Dean couldn't find it in himself to wake him either.

The night before, Sam had immediately passed out when he got into the king sized bed. After the shopping trip and the cleaning of the kitchen, Sam had been exhausted. There was also the backrub that Dean had given him, he knew exactly how to make Sam melt under his touch. They'd grown up together after all, knowing how to give the best massage to his brother was like knowing Sam's favorite color or that he was afraid of clowns. Sam could do the same thing to Dean, just that Sam tended to dig his fingers in a little more than was necessary. Still, they both knew each others secret spots, the places that made their very bones liquify. Sometimes, though Dean would never admit even to himself, he secretly thought those massages, at the right time, in the right circumstance, were better than sex.

Right, thinking about back rubs that are better than sex with your little brother in your arms, that seemed a bit wrong, somehow. Dean didn't exactly know how but it did. Maybe it was the fact that he was now becoming very aware that he had a case of morning wood.

Oh . . . God . . . No.

No, no, no, no, nononono.

Not this, not now, not with his traumatized brother trying to press himself into Dean. He knew he couldn't very well help it but that didn't make it seem any better. Dean had to get out of this bed and now, before Sam woke up and thought Dean was perving on him or something. Which he wasn't. It was perfectly natural but Dean didn't think that Sam would appreciate having anyone's dick pressing into any part of his body right now, or ever.

Crap.

Dean was a hunter, a soldier, a warrior . . . there was very little that made him panic. Flying, Sam being hurt, losing his brother . . . he never thought that having an erection would be on his short list of panic inducing circumstances.

Okay, that was it, even if he had to wake up Sam, he was getting out of bed right _now_. So, that's why Sam chose the exact moment that Dean was wrenching himself away to roll onto his back, releasing Dean who promptly and violently roll over the edge of the bed, landing on all fours.

Dean limped into the bathroom, throwing a dark glare over his shoulder at his still sleeping brother.

***S*S*S***

After replacing the light bulb in the bathroom, Dean ended up having to quickly jerk off in the shower since his hard on was being very persistent. He reasoned that it made sense since he hadn't gotten laid in the last two weeks and his libido was not used to that kind of dry spell. Dean tried not to think too much about the fact that his supposed "morning wood" had popped up well after he was truly awake and just happened to coincide with thoughts of backrubs between Sam and him.

After a shower and lighting another fire, now that the cabin was officially freezing again, Dean spent a little time getting to know the kitchen, find out where Sam had put everything and putting away all the clean dishes, cutlery and cookware. He hadn't bothered with any of it last night, just went and got the bags of rock salt out of the trunk of the Impala and laid down salt lines at every entry point. Then he got some of the spray paint and stood on one of the kitchen chairs that felt a little more wobbly than they looked and made a devil's trap on the ceiling between the door and the living room. That rule about being too careful was that you couldn't be. Dean thought briefly about making dinner but didn't believe he could rouse Sam from sleep and didn't really want to anyway, it had been a long day. In the end he found the bread and made a couple of sandwiches with the meat in the refrigerator and another beer before taking the broom and sweeping down the cobwebs, then laying out the sheet on the couch. Dean wouldn't have cared about the sheet bit if the couch hadn't been so damn dusty.

It had been very warm in the cabin at that point, especially in front of the fire that was slowly dying. Dean had just stripped down and covered himself with the blanket he had grabbed earlier, propping himself up with the pillow he settled against the arm rest. He finished off his beer staring into the dwindling flames, thinking of Sam, thinking of his initial fear of having a massage, thinking of lighting those fuckers that touched Sam on fire, listening to them scream . . .

Pleasant dreams soon followed.

Until Sam called out for him during the night. Dean had shot up like a rocket, his thoughts on his brother needing him. Stumbling half asleep into the bedroom with no weapon in hand though, that wasn't smart. Sam looked so vulnerable in the dim light from the living room, Dean offered to get him a glass of water like he was a little kid again, he couldn't help it, it was like being on auto-pilot. Just like later when he held Sam to get him through the nightmare, it was automatic even after all these years.

Breakfast, Dean needed to think about breakfast.

Hunting through the cabinets, Dean assessed his options. Cold cereal? Not in the mood. Oatmeal? That's all Sam. Pancakes? Too much effort, though if he did say so himself he was pretty awesome at pancakes. Dean switched to the refrigerator. Eggs and bacon, his stomach growled . . . perfect.

He laid out the necessary food and realized he had no toaster for toast and . . . son of a bitch - no coffee maker. Dean refused to drink that swill that passed for instant coffee. Dammit, he'd have to have a talk with Caleb. What kind of freak doesn't have a coffee maker in the kitchen? Probably the kind that takes the coffee maker with them when they leave for ten years . . . bastard.

Well, he could make toast in the oven, that's fine and they had orange juice. Great . . . juice. Liquified fruit, didn't that sound . . . yeah, the definitely had to get out today and get a some things.

***S*S*S***

Sam woke to the smell of bacon frying, he didn't particularly want to leave the nice warm sanctuary of the bed but he reluctantly got up. Even though he felt certain that he had slept much better with Dean by his side than without, Sam felt distinctly grumpy this morning. He was chilly and despite the hours of sleep, he still felt groggy. Sam resisted the urge to grab one of the blankets from the bed and cocoon himself in it even as he shivered in the cold bedroom. He just wrapped his arms around himself instead.

Sam padded out into the living room, there was a fire just beginning to take the chill from the air.

"Why is it," he said, as he stepped into the kitchen, "the only source of heat is the fireplace? I mean this whole place is wired for electricity, why doesn't it just have heaters?"

Dean turned from the stove as Sam plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs. Oh, the joys of being able to plop without pain.

"Mornin' sunshine," Dean crowed.

Sam half glared at his older brother. He didn't understand the reason his brother had to shout at him every single morning. Especially before coffee, speaking of . . .

"Did we get coffee?" Sam asked.

Dean had turned back to his cooking when he answered, "We did but there's no coffee maker."

Sam groaned and dropped his forehead on the table.

"We'll get one when we're out today," Dean said, tipping some scrambled eggs from a frying pan onto the two plates on the counter.

Sam lifted his head and frowned, "We're going out today? Again?"

Dean huffed, setting a plate of eggs, bacon and slightly burnt toast in front of him, "Don't you remember? You pitched a fit about not having any internet and whined that you wouldn't have anything to do up here."

Sam groaned again, "No internet . . . why did you have to remind me?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean set a glass of orange juice next to his plate, "I know you're used to getting a variety of porn online, Sammy but seriously, get a magazine or somethin'."

Dean neatly dodged Sam's elbow as he went back to the counter to get his own plate.

"Shut up," Sam groused.

Dean sighed, sitting down adjacent to Sam, the table was shoved up against the wall and the counter so there was only two places to sit, "Forgot how much of a bitch you can be in the mornings sometimes." He mumbled.

Sam stiffened, staring down at his plate, suddenly feeling nauseated. Dean had been very good up until now, not using _that word_. It wasn't really his fault, Dean called him a bitch on a regular basis before, it was practically a term of endearment with them. "They" took that away from them, turned it into something dark and ugly. Now, even in Dean's half teasing tone, it sounded wrong and threatening.

"Sorry," Dean said softly.

Sam looked up at his brother who looked contrite. It wasn't fair, Dean wasn't to blame, he shouldn't have to apologize. Furthermore, he shouldn't have to walk on eggshells around Sam. Dean shouldn't have to watch whatever he said, afraid of what Sam's reaction would be.

Sam shook his head, "Don't worry about it."

"Sammy," Dean started.

"I said, don't worry about it . . . jerk," Sam replied with a sort of half smile and dug into his meal with eagerness he didn't feel, trying to cover for any discomfort.

Sam purposely ate more than he felt like eating because he knew that Dean was keeping a closer eye on him. That was another thing that Dean shouldn't have to do. He excused himself shortly afterward and locked himself in the bathroom. He managed to get the shower started before losing half his breakfast in the toilet. Sam sighed in defeat, he really shouldn't have forced himself to eat so much.

The shower, which Dean had done an excellent job at cleaning, was great. The water pressure was great and the hot water lasted the duration. Sam felt a lot better and cleaner, at least on the surface. He didn't think that the feeling of filth would ever truly wash away. Although, lately that feeling had lessened and Sam sort of saw this sense as a companion of sorts. He was mostly used to it and thankfully so since it meant he no longer had to scrub his skin until it was raw.

When he was mostly dry and dressed in yet another pair of sweats (it seemed the most sensible in the cabin, warm and comfortable) the only thing Sam wanted to do, was crawl back under the covers for a nap.

Dean appeared in the bedroom doorway, "Hey, ready to go?"

Sam sighed, right, they were heading out again, he nodded, maybe he could nap in the car.


	18. Another Perfect Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I would like to point out that the thing about the DVDs in the bathroom, totally inspired by a a true story. I was the one that found the cases while I was working at Target . . . but you totally shouldn't shoplift because it's bad, mkay? This is a shopping trip, then they go home, then something bad because I just can't hurt Sam enough. I'm a sadistic bitch, okay?**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean was an idiot.

Then again, maybe Sam was too if he thought he was fooling anyone. A halfhearted "jerk" didn't cover the fact that Sam was disturbed by Dean's slip.

He hadn't meant to of course, Dean determinedly avoided the word "bitch" like the plague. Dean had noticed that the word had somehow started to bothered Sam before he had even known what happened. Not that it stopped him at the time but once he knew what Sam had gone through, he halted all use of the word, trying to erase it from his vocabulary. Easier said than done, especially since he _always_ called Sam a bitch, it was just what he did. Then Sam would call him a jerk and that would be that.

Fuck, he hated change.

It wasn't just change anymore. Dean started to realize that it wasn't really that things were different, it was that things had been taken from them, taken from him. "They" did this, "they" took away his kid brother and replaced him with some one who was afraid, who shied away from everyone, who had panic attacks, who locked bathroom doors and could barely turn his back on his own brother. Dean used to think he couldn't hate anything or anyone more than that yellow eyed demon but goddammit, he hated those disgusting monsters that had done this. Just when he thought he'd reached the peek of his anger towards Sam's rapists something like this happen and Dean's anger would impossibly grow.

Dean intentionally didn't enter the bedroom until Sam was dressed wanting to respect Sam's seemingly intense need for privacy these days. Naturally, before going anywhere, Sam felt it was necessary to put layer after layer of shirts on before donning his coat. Dean suspected it had nothing to do with Sam feeling cold (not with the amount of heat his body produced) and more to do with a feeling of protection, like the shirts were his armor.

When they left the cabin and the Impala was rolling down the mountain side once more, Sam nodded off almost immediately. Dean chalked it up to all the activity the day before. Dean kept glancing over at Sam, his head lolling over the back of the seat and towards the window. Was it his imagination or was Sam looking even more pale today? Dean had the sudden urge to wrap his arm around Sam and keep him close and warm and safe. Then he shook his head, he really needed to get a hold of himself.

After stopping for coffee, (Sam batted him away when Dean tried to rouse him to ask if he wanted some.) Dean drove out of the small town they were in and headed out on the the highway towards the next much larger township an hour and half away. He blindly shoved a cassette into the player, not being able to stand the quiet. All the driving he'd been doing lately seemed much longer since Sam had started sleeping for most of the trips, even when Sam was awake he barely spoke. What Dean wouldn't give for some of Sam's insensate chattering again, hell, he'd even settle for an argument.

Dean turned off at the exit, trying to decide where to head first. With a sudden jolt he realized that this would be more of Sam having to deal with being around other people again. Damn, why didn't he even think about that before? Biting his lower lip and glancing over at his brother, Dean told himself it would be fine. They went shopping at the local store together with no problem. Even the restaurant wasn't bad until . . . well, it's best not to think about how it ended.

 _Start small_ , Dean told himself.

Dean drove the Impala around the streets, no particular destination in mind but sticking to the city parts. Driving slowly around small neighborhoods in a black car would probably not go over well with the locals. Then Dean saw the sign for the local library. That was good, the library, it would be quiet and libraries weren't known for their crowded atmosphere.

He pulled into the (thankfully) nearly empty parking lot.

"Sammy," Dean shook his brother.

Sam sat up with a start, breathing in deeply through his nose. He looked around, blinking slowly and stretched a little in his seat, "Where are we?"

"Town library," Dean answered, already prepared to get out of the car.

Sam squinted, "I can see that but where are we?"

"Rosendale," Dean said, "we've been driving for like two hours, dude."

"Oh," Sam frowned, "I've been sleeping?"

Dean snorted at the fact that Sam actually sounded surprised by this, "What else? C'mon, I bet you can get online in there."

Sam brightened considerably at that and grabbed the leather satchel with his laptop which he had grabbed before leaving the cabin. Dean got out of the car and got a rarely used backpack from the trunk. Once they were inside Sam found the quietest, most secluded table he could, in a tiny study nook in a corner.

"Hey," Dean said in a quiet voice once Sam had sat down, "I'll be back in a few, I'm just gonna walk around a bit."

Sam looked up at Dean with wide eyes, looking slightly worried. Dean almost changed his mind but then Sam nodded.

"I'll be fine," Sam said in that way that made him sound as though he were trying to convince the both of them.

Dean considered him a minute before saying, "You got your cell on you right?"

Sam nodded, perplexed.

"Good, so if you need me, just buzz me, okay?" Dean smiled.

Sam smiled back slightly, "Yeah, okay."

Dean didn't particular want to leave Sam alone either, library or not. He knew eventually though, they would have to learn to cope without being right next to each other. Dean sighed as he browsed the paperback fictions, he plucked a few out of the shelves and looked around covertly before tossing them into the backpack. He went through a few more shelves in the building, just grabbing whatever caught his interest and fifteen minutes later he made his way back to Sam . . . who was currently looking at local newspaper website.

"Whatcha doin'?" Dean said as he emerged from the shadow of a bookshelf, causing Sam to jump.

"Don't do that," Sam scowled, " I'm just . . . checking my email."

"Your email, huh?" Dean sauntered up to the table as Sam hastily closed the previous window. "I didn't realize you could do that from a newspaper site."

Sam just shrugged, knowing he was caught, "Wanted to see what was going on in the area, not really looking for anything."

"Whatever," Dean sighed, "ready to go?"

Sam gave him an incredulous look, "We've only been here for like, twenty minutes, dude."

Dean just sighed again, "Fine." he pulled up a chair and sat.

After about three seconds, he started to tap out a rhythm on the arm rests, making impatient noises, tipping back his chair and letting it fall again with a loud thump, making clucking noises with his tongue.

Sam just shut his laptop, "Let's go."

This town's library was not even equipped with sensors at the door which Dean had noticed coming in. They had an area that you had to pass through that had sensors which was where they kept the CDs and DVDs and whatever else they considered valuable. Dean left the place with a backpack full of books with no one the wiser.

Back in the Impala, Dean tossed the backpack in the backseat, Sam turned and looked at it then at his brother.

"Dean," Sam said slowly, "did you just steal from a library?"

Starting up the car, Dean responded, " _Borrowed_ , Sammy. That's what libraries are there for."

"When you "borrow" books from the library," Sam began to lecture, "you're supposed to have a library card, supposed to check them out legitimately, not just take them."

"Yeah," Dean pulled out of the parking lot, "then you gotta bring them back at a certain date and well, I don't like those kind of restrictions."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Yeah Dean, you're a real rebel."

Dean just smirked.

***S*S*S***

The next stop they made was a department store chain to get a coffee maker, a toaster, and with any luck a few decent DVDs.

Before even getting out of the car though, Sam had to get over an attack of nerves. The library was one thing, it was quiet and practically empty. This was a huge store and the the parking lot had lots of cars in it, lots of cars meant lots of customers.

"You don't have to go in." Dean said for the third time, though cell phone or not, he didn't want to leave Sam alone in the car for any amount of time. The library was one thing, the Impala seemed too exposed.

"Yes, I do." Sam insisted, also for the third time, then cleared his throat.

Sam was looking particularly determined and now Dean was certain he did not imagine the fact that Sam looked more pallid and certainly a lot more tired than usual.

"Alright," Dean said, "first, lets one thing straight before we get in there."

Sam looked at him questioningly and Dean continued, "We're gonna stick together, no wandering away to like, the toy department or somthin'."

Sam seemed utterly confused for a moment before understanding crossed his features, quickly replaced by disbelief, "Dude, I was _six_!"

"And _I_ was _ten_ and _responsible_ for you and dad was friggin' _pissed_ ," Dean retorted.

Sam rolled his eyes and gave a small cough, "Okay, y'know what, I'm gonna try real hard not to wander off into the toy isle while you're busy looking at bras in the women's underwear department."

"He lectured me for hours," Dean went on, ignoring Sam's comment, "had to clean all the guns and wasn't allowed dinner - "

"Yeah, I remember." Sam interrupted clearing his throat again, "I remember because in the middle of his lecture I started crying and begged Dad not to yell at you anymore."

"That's it," Dean said, "enough memory lane, I'm gonna go and get a coffee maker. You comin'?"

Sam took a deep breath, coughed, then nodded, "Let's go."

As they entered, Dean nodded at the security guard that was standing between the doors and the rest of the store. While walking through the department store Dean noticed how seriously Sam was taking his rule of sticking together. They might as well have been holding hands, Sam was so close to him. His breath was coming so quick that Dean kept much closer watch, noticing how he trembled minutely whenever some one brushed past him, daring to be in his personal space. The last thing either of them needed was for Sam to have a panic attack in the middle of a department store. By the time Dean picked up a simple coffee maker and an even more simple toaster, he also noticed that Sam kept clearing his throat.

"Dude, what's wrong?" Dean asked as he picked up a small CD case.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked back in very quiet voice, looking around like the conversation was somehow private. "And why are you getting a CD case, you don't even have any CDs."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said scrutinizing his brother, "what's wrong with your throat?"

"Oh," Sam looked slightly surprised then shook his head, "it's kinda sore, that's all."

Dean nodded and headed for the checkout at the front of the store, Sam practically glued to his side.

After they payed with one of Dean's fraudulent credit cards, he motioned Sam to follow him (like Sam was likely not to) to the small express fast food place in front of the store. Dean ordered a burger and fries and Sam typically got a salad, though he didn't sound like he wanted much of anything. Dean also ordered an large Icee. First he called it a Slushie but Sam was quick to point out that it was an Icee and that an Icee, Slushie, Slush Puppie, and Slurpee were all different things from different companies and even if 7-Eleven licensed the product from Icee in 1967 . . . Dean tuned him out after that.

"I thought you were going to get DVDs here." Sam frowned around his straw.

"I am," Dean assured him, looking at the nearly untouched salad in front of Sam, "eat your lunch, Sam."

Picking up the plastic fork, Sam poked halfheartedly at the lettuce before setting the fork down again, "I'm not hungry."

"I know," Dean sighed, "eat it anyway."

Sam wrinkled his nose at the salad and Dean did not, in any way, find it cute . . . at all . . . seriously.

"Sam," Dean said evenly, "either eat it or I'll feed it to you."

"Fuck, Dean could you maybe not treat me like a child for once?" Sam snapped.

"There we go," Dean smirked, "that's what I'm looking for, Sam."

"What?" Sam squinted at him, "You _want_ to piss me off?"

"No," Dean answered calmly, "I just want to distract you from how nervous you are being here. You're actually doing really good, Sammy. You've calmed down a lot since we've been here."

"So you wanted to calm me down more by pissing me off?" Sam asked dubiously.

Dean shrugged, "That and you're my little brother and I'm required by law to bother you, bug you and otherwise torment you on a regular basis."

A ghost of a smile touched Sam's lips, "Is that a federal law?"

"You tell me," Dean said, "you're the law student."

"Pre-law," Sam corrected, "never actually got to law school."

"Yeah," was all Dean could say as he looked away.

Contrary to what anyone believed of him, he really did feel bad about Sam missing out on living his dream. Not enough to let him go and that just made him feel like he was holding his brother back which felt even worse. Those were thoughts for another time though, Sam was eating his salad and that's all that mattered at the moment.

Sam ate half the salad before pushing it away from himself, continuing to work on the Icee which he seemed much more interested in.

"How's you throat?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "Better I guess, we gonna get some DVDs now?"

Dean nodded and got up, leading the way to the electronics department where there was a wall of DVDs next to the wall of televisions, all advertising how awesome they were and why they were better then the television next to them. The brothers spent some time going through the DVDs, Sam still sticking abnormally close to Dean. Not that Dean noticed much anymore, in fact he would only notice now if Sam wasn't right next to him.

After they had a decent amount of DVDs between them, Sam pointed out that maybe it wasn't wise to be buying so much. Even with the hustling and the fake credit cards, it wasn't a good idea to waste money. Dean waved his concerns away and went through the DVDs again handing the cheaper ones to Sam and holding on to the most expensive ones. When they were almost up to the front of the store where the cash registers were, Dean tugged Sam to the side, with all the children's clothing and towards the bathrooms.

"Okay," Dean said, stopping right outside the _Men's_ room, the bag with the coffee maker, toaster and CD case still in his grip, along with the stack of expensive DVDs, "Sam, I need you to stay right here and keep an eye on that security guard." He nodded at the guard who was currently chatting with another employee.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he looked at Dean, "Why?"

Dean just grinned at him before quickly ducking into the bathroom leaving Sam to stand out in the store, trying not to look suspicious. Dean just heard a urgent hiss of his name before the door closed behind him.

Dean quickly confirmed the restroom was empty before slipping into the last stall. Sitting down, he took out a switchblade and carefully sliced open each of the ten cases of DVDs he held, taking out each disc and sliding them into the CD case one by one. When he was finished he took the cases, neatly stacked them and placed them on the floor, behind the bowl and under the tank and slipped the CD case back into the bag.

Coming back out of the bathroom he was happy to see that Sam was too busy fuming to be nervous about being alone outside the bathroom.

Grabbing the remaining DVDs from Sam, he grinned again, "Ready?"

"What did you do?" Sam glared at him.

Dean just walked towards the cash registers casually, right passed the security guard who was still chatting away cheerfully.

Sam didn't speak again until they were back in the car.  
"You just stole a bunch of DVDs, didn't you?" Sam sighed in exasperation,

It was another time that Sam sounded resigned instead of angry or aggravated.

"Can't put anything past you, can I Sammy?" Dean grinned, starting the engine.

Sam heaved an aggrieved sigh, "I don't even know why I'm surprised by anything you do . . . ever."

'Yeah, okay," Dean nodded, "whatever you say, grand theft auto."

"Only in an emergency," Sam insisted, clearing his throat, "like saving your ass."

"Dude, do we need to stop for throat lozenges or somethin'?" Dean frowned at his younger brother.

"I'm fine," Sam waved him off, "let's just get back already, I'm tired."

 _What else is new?_ Dean didn't say it out loud, he knew it wasn't Sam's fault, just a result of not enough food and also probably had to do with the various medications.

Dean started the long drive back and of course Sam fell asleep again. At least Sam didn't look so pale anymore, it looked like he was getting some color back. Maybe this shopping trip had been the best thing for him.

Once they were back in the small mountain town, Dean made a quick stop at a pharmacy and picked up some throat lozenges for Sam, just in case. He briefly considered waking Sam but decided to let him sleep for the rest of the ride.

As Dean pulled up in front of the cabin his first thought was, _Home again._

He felt an odd sort of twinge, Sam and him hadn't had a real home in years and they'd only been here a night. Still, it felt sort of like home, it was an entire cabin and they'd clean it up (notwithstanding the floors and most of the living room) and done the shopping, and the whole thing was feeling terribly domestic. Even though Dean normally would normally inwardly cringe at the thought, he found he didn't mind so much right now. Thinking of this tiny cabin in the woods as "home" felt . . . _nice_.

Dean shook himself of they wayward thoughts, turning he jostled his brother who was facing the window, "Sammy, c'mon we're back, time to wake up."

Sam made a whining noise but otherwise didn't stir.

"Sam," Dean barked, "up! You can go back to sleep once you're inside, don't make me leave you out here."

Sam lifted his head groggily and it seemed to take a long time for him to turn and look at Dean. When he did, Dean could tell straight away something wasn't right. Sam's face was blotchy and his eyes looked slightly glazed and he kept squinting like he couldn't quite keep Dean in focus.

"De - an?" Sam mumbled.

"Sammy?" Dean framed Sam's face in his hands, trying to get a better look into his eyes, the heat under his palms shocked him, Sam was excessively hot.

"I don't feel so good," Sam said haltingly.

"Shit," Dean bolted out of the car and around the passenger side. Yanking the door open he managed to get Sam halfway out of the car before Sam vomited into the mud.

"Sorry," Sam said meekly.

Dean shook his head, "C'mon," he managed to haul Sam out of the car, "let's get you inside."

Dean supported a lot of Sam's weight getting him inside. He was just grateful he didn't have to support Sam completely, which he very much doubted he could.

The cabin was cool inside, the fire having got out hours ago. That was a good thing for Sam, he needed a cooler atmosphere for the temperature he was surely running. Dean unceremoniously dumped him in the bed, wishing he could be slightly more gentle but Sam was heavy, dammit. He removed Sam's shoes but left his sock on, Sam just laid there complacent, then rolled to his side, curling up with a soft moan.

Dean went his own duffel and pulled out the bag he kept most of the medications in, looking for Tylenol or anything stronger that was a fever reducer. He found the pills and then a pamphlet caught his eye. It was the pamphlet that Dr. Cavanaugh had given them at the hospital about the first warning signs and symptoms of HIV.

Dean picked up the pamphlet he had only briefly scanned before, a bad feeling coming over him as something tugged at his memory.

_Many people do not develop symptoms after getting infected with HIV. Some people have a flu - like illness within several days to weeks after exposure to the virus. They complain of fever, headache, tiredness, and enlarged lymph glands in the neck. These symptoms usually disappear on their own within a few weeks._

The pamphlet went on beyond that but now the words just blurred together as Dean stared at it uncomprehendingly for several minutes.

"Oh fuck, Sammy," Dean whispered as the now familiar feeling of devastation and hopelessness washed over him.


	19. Sick, Sick, Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I have no definitive answers on Sam's condition. Besides, he's completely out of it. This is becoming so much more of a Dean story then I ever intended but Sam hasn't been feeling social for quite some time but given what he's been through, I think it's understandable.**   
>  **Little non-con flashback in here, really only dialogue so the only thing really graphic is the language and possibly the implications.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean sat on the now dust free couch, elbows on knees and one knee bouncing, staring into the flames of the crackling fire.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

It was the only thought he had since getting back to the cabin and discovering that his little brother was suffering from a high fever. Actually, the first thought had been to somehow reduce Sam's fever, then he found the damned pamphlet about the first signs of HIV which included Acute Viral Syndrome which was like the flu. Since then . . .

_Fuck, fuck, FUCK!_

Not Sam, not his Sammy. His baby brother was _not_ infected with HIV, it wasn't possible. Alright, it was possible but _no_ , Dean was _not_ going accept it. There was no way in hell that Dean was going to let his kid brother suffer even more after everything that had happened to him. He had partially hoped that Sam just had an infection but it became obvious later that wasn't the case.

Sam had slept for a few more hours since Dean put him in bed and fed him some aspirin. He woke in even worse shape, his fever was still high, he couldn't talk above a whisper, he complained that his nose was completely clogged, his glands were swollen, he couldn't eat either, he said his throat hurt too much. The lozenges were a joke, his throat hurt too much for anything except for orange juice with ice in it. Sam was completely miserably and had used half a roll of toilet paper continuously blowing his nose. Dean gave him more aspirin and some antibiotics he had stashed in the medication and Sam had drifted off again, this time propped up on both pillows and a blanket so he could breath a little easier. Dean wouldn't let Sam cover up with anything other than the sheet though, not wanting his body temperature to rise even higher. Dean despaired after going through every bag and the first aid kit he couldn't find anything else, not even cough medicine. That was the thing though, they didn't get sick. Being a hunter, you couldn't afford to get sick. That's what the antibiotics were for, when either of them felt something coming on, they took some and they were fine. Sam was always the one insisting on flu shots, too. Dean wondered if they'd gotten shots this year, he couldn't remember, why couldn't he remember something like that?

Dean should have known something was wrong when Sam said his throat hurt. That was always Sam's first complaint whenever he got sick, the first sign that he was coming down with something. Though if Sam was coming down with something then, Dean didn't know what he could have done, except not drag Sam all over the place and making him take some pills and rest.

Dean checked on Sam every half hour, patting his face and neck with a cool cloth. He wanted to go back into town and get some some flu medication and some tissues. The toilet paper was probably irritating Sam's nose by now. Every time he thought of leaving though, Dean couldn't make himself do it. What if Sam woke up and he wasn't here? What if he had to go to the bathroom and he fell in his weak state and cracked his head open or something?

During Sam's sleeping state, Dean had nothing to do but worry. He finally talked himself into doing something so that he didn't just stand in the bedroom doorway staring at Sam. Dean had set up the coffee maker and the toaster. The coffee maker was essential, he wouldn't get much sleep tonight after all, he had to take care of Sam. Dean had cleaned the dust from the living room and finally got around to mopping the floors in the living room, bedroom and bathroom. It was hard being in the bedroom because he had to resist the urge to wake his brother. It was just that his breathing sounded so thin and strangled. Dean had gone outside briefly and opened the shutters. He considered fixing the one that hung on it's hinge but he needed to be inside in case Sam needed him. He took the books he'd "borrowed" from the library and stacked them on the fire place mantel, the DVDs too though not directly over where the fire was. Eventually, Dean even pulled out the mothball smelling curtains, sprayed them with Febreze and hung them up. That took the better part of an hour since he had no idea what he was doing.

Now all Dean had to do was sit here and think about the fact that Sam might have HIV. Even if he didn't, even if Sam just had the flu, that was still dangerous. He had dropped so much weight recently, physically, he was so much weaker. People died from the flu every year.

"Dean!" Sam's hoarse voice cried out, laced with terror.

Dean practically ran into the bedroom, Sam was sitting up, looking around wildly. When he saw Dean he reached out for him and Dean knelt on the bed next to him, Sam grabbed his forearms tightly.

"Where are they?" Sam rasped, still looking around the room fearfully, "They were just here, where are they?"

Dean shook his head, "Who, Sammy? Who was just here?"

Sam finally focused on Dean's face, " _Them_. They were here, they were - were . . . _touching_ me."

Dean gently pulled free of Sam's grasp, "No one is here, Sam, it's just me."

Tears spilled from Sam's eyes, "They were here," he insisted, "they were here . . . they hurt me, Dean."

Dean framed his brother's face, still hot with fever, as he fought back his own tears, "I know, Sammy, I know they did. It's okay, you're okay now, no one is ever gonna hurt you again, I promise."

Sam couldn't even sniff he was so stuffed up. Dean just grabbed the roll of toilet paper on the table by the bed and handed him a wad of it. Sam blew his nose noisily. With some coaxing, Dean got a whimpering Sam to lay back again and fetched a cool cloth, going back to his ministrations of trying to keep Sam cool. Dean spoke to him in hushed tones, reassuring Sam that he was okay, that he was with Dean and that his big brother was going to take care of him and protect him. Eventually, Sam drifted off into an uneasy slumber.

Several cups of coffee later, Dean was slumped over the end of the bed, cloth still in his hand, unable to stay awake any longer. His hand grasped Sam's tightly even in his sleep.

***S*S*S***

Sam drifted in a nightmare land. It was hot and cold and he could barely breath and his throat ached. Phantom hands touched him, skimming down his skin, fondling him, prodding him, he tried to twist away from them but they followed him, trailing filth in their wake. It was dark and there was the echo of Patsy Cline songs surrounding him. God it hurt, it hurt so much no matter where he turned there was more pain.

"Sshh, Sammy, ssshhh." Dean's hushed voice broke through the haze, "you're okay. You're safe, I promise. They can't hurt you, not ever again."

There was a cool sensation pressed to his forehead and Sam struggled to open his eyes. When he did, there was dim light and Dean's face swam into view.

"Dean?" Sam could hardly talk through the soreness of his throat.

"Hey," Dean gave him a tired smile but it held an edge of sadness.

Sam couldn't hold a thought, "What's happened?"

"You're sick, Sam." Dean whispered, "probably the flu."

Sam blinked slowly, it felt like weights were attached to his eyelids, "Sick?"

"Yeah," Dean studied him closely, "listen, Sammy, I know it's hard but I need you to think for a minute. I need you remember if you had a flu shot this year. Can you remember?"

Sam shook his head . . . he didn't want to think, he didn't want to remember anything he just wanted to sleep, he wanted a dreamless sleep. He sank back into oblivion.

Voices, more voices again. The voices meant more touching, more pain. Sam curled up, trying to hide but they gleefully descended upon him with cold laughter and obscene grunting.

_"So tight, so fuckin' tight, it's so good."_

_Stop, stop, stop, it hurts._

_"It's my turn, Tavian."_

_"I think I could go again, he's so fuckin' pretty."_

_No more, please, no more._

_"You know the rules," comes the deep voice from the front of the dark van, "Tavian first, then Darian, then Julian. No seconds, not for anyone."_

_More cruel laughter._

_"No one can go after Julian, it'd be like fuckin' a mineshaft."_

_Sam is horrified by the implications and concentrates on repeating the names to himself, it seemed important to do, something important to remember, maybe if he gets out alive he can do something, maybe, maybe, maybe . . ._

_Tavian, Darian, Julian, Tavian, Darian, Julian, Tavian, Darian, Julian . . ._

"Sammy? Sam, it's okay."

_No, it's not, it's not okay, it hurts, it won't stop hurting._

"I know, I know Sammy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Sam opened his eyes and saw green eyes peering into his, "Dean?"

"You back?" Dean asked, pressing something cool to his forehead.

"Back?" Sam whispered confused.

"You've been drifting in and out," Dean explained, "you were talking in your sleep."

Sam sucked in a painful breath and gripped Dean's arm. It was supposed to be a strong grip but for some reason he couldn't squeeze very hard.

"What did I say?" Sam whimpered, what did he say, what did Dean hear?

Dean swallowed, his eyes sliding away, "Not much," he said quietly, "just that you were hurting . . . and some names."

"Names?" Sam couldn't seem to push away the fuzzy feeling that wrapped around his head, his hands slipped away from Dean's arms.

"Tavian," Dean answered, looking at him closely, "Darian . . . Julian . . ." Dean swallowed again, "Sam, did they . . . were they the ones that hurt you?"

Sam couldn't think anymore, he couldn't answer any questions but words started to tumble out. It sort of reminded him of being possessed, without control of his own body.

"It was dark, it was so dark, Dean." Sam's voice wavered, his throat was burning.

Dean pressed something to his lips, Sam could smell water somehow, even through his clogged nose and drank. How much was Sam saying out loud that Dean would know he needed that? Or did Dean just know? Like the telepathy Sam was certain they had when they were on a hunt.

"What was dark, Sammy?" Dean whispered to him, coolness spreading over his face.

"The van, it was so dark in the van," Sam's eyes closed again, he was so tired, "the music was playing, they were laughing, it was cold and dark."

"It's okay," Dean said quietly, "you're not there anymore."

"Always there," Sam whispered, "I can't leave . . ." Sam's eyes flew open. "Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother's arms again, there was something he needed to tell him, something that suddenly seemed all consuming and important, "Dean I . . . I think I'm afraid of the dark."

Even through the haze of his fever and sickness, his confession sounded silly and childish. Dean was gently disengaging himself from Sam's grip and hushing him.

"Relax, Sammy," Dean said soothingly, "it's okay."

"No," Sam shook his head, why didn't Dean understand? This wasn't okay, this was far from okay, "If I'm afraid of the dark, I can't hunt. Most of the things we do are in the dark, Dean, how am I gonna hunt if I'm afraid?"

"Don't worry about that right now." Dean was infuriatingly calm, "Just rest, Sam, go back to sleep."

All at once, that seemed like the most magnificent idea in the entire world. He let his eyes fall shut and his head hit the pillow and he couldn't breath well and it hurt to swallow and he was afraid of the nightmares that were sure to follow but Sam found he was too tired to care at that point. Let the darkness take him, it didn't matter anymore.

***S*S*S***

Names, Dean had names now.

Dean stuck close to Sam's side now, only leaving to eat and drink more coffee. He woke Sam every hour to drink some water so he didn't become dehydrated. Most of the time Sam was too out of it to even know he was awake at all. His nightmares though, they had taken on a more vivid and frightening quality. When Sam woke up on his own, it was more often than not due to another horrifying dream. Dean had woken Sam when he kept repeating those names, over and over, a nightmare mantra. He asked if those were the ones that hurt him but Dean already knew that they were, they had to be.

Now they had names.

Now they would be a hell of a lot easier to find.

Dean wanted to leave, wanted to drive back to that town and find them right the fuck now. Wanted to get his own personal blood samples from them too, after he was done disemboweling them and cutting their fucking pricks off. (Dean couldn't even muster a wince of sympathy, all he felt was cold satisfaction at that thought.) Then he could take those samples to a doc, someone friendly with hunters and find out for sure if any of them had potentially exposed his baby brother to HIV.

Dean was forcing himself to be calm. He had to take care of Sam who, four days later, was still running a high fever. He hadn't been able to tear himself away to go to the town pharmacy, too afraid what would happen in his absence. Dean was exhausted and jittery, not enough sleep and way too much coffee. Dean was sitting on the couch listening as Sam snored loudly. The result of not being able to breath properly. If the fever didn't break soon, Dean would have to take Sam to a hospital, there was no another option.

Dean tried to reassure himself that Sam had already been tested for HIV at the hospital and he had tested negative. Of course, Dr. Cavanaugh had also said that it could take up to six months to show up so Sam would have to get tested again to be sure. Even the pamphlet said that if Sam did have Acute Viral Syndrome that was no guarantee that HIV would show up in his blood anyway. Still, Sam was taking his pills (which Dean was strictly keeping up with) that were suppose to help prevent the disease. Again, helping prevent doesn't mean it actually _will_ prevent.

Dean was a nervous wreck.

Sam kept having nightmares which didn't help matters any. Most of the time, Sam didn't even know where he was when he woke from one of the dreams. He always seemed to think he was in _that van_ , Sam kept talking about the van and the music and the laughing. He hadn't mentioned the names again but they were already seared into Dean's brain now. It just took the one time and he clung to those names, wishing they had faces. Dean suddenly wished as fervently as Sam would that he had online access. Even if searching using first names wasn't the most practical, at least Dean would being doing _something_.

Dean _needed_ to do something.

He shot to his feet and stalked into the bedroom. Sam smelled, it was a particularly bad smell of sickness and some one who hadn't showered in four days. Dean nodded to himself as he came to a decision.

The bathtub wasn't very large but it was deep and it would be enough to meet his needs. Dean filled the tube with cool but not freezing water, Sam's fever wasn't high enough to warrant wrapping him in sheets and dipping him in ice cube laden water just yet.

Rousing Sam enough to get him out of bed took almost twenty minutes. If Sam didn't absolutely have to pee, he didn't want to move. Finally, he let himself be led into the bathroom and Dean sat Sam on the edge of the tub and set about undressing him.

Once Dean got his sweats off, he went to pull off Sam's briefs and that's when Sam went stiff and seemed almost aware for just a few minutes.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, staring at him with wide eyes.

Placing his hands on Sam's knees, Dean looked up at him, "It's okay Sam, I'm just gonna get you in the tub, you need a bath."

Sam looked between Dean and the bath water behind him, confused. Sam bit his lip and shook his head but couldn't seem to communicate what he was thinking.

"Hey Sammy," Dean ducked his head, trying to make eye contact without much success. "You want me to leave these on?" He tugged the elastic of Sam's underwear.

After a moment's hesitation, Sam nodded.

Dean's heart ached a little. It's not like he'd never seen his brother naked, hell, he'd changed the kid's diapers and Sam had his fair share of potty training accidents and bet wetting episodes. Dean and Sam had mostly taken baths together as kids too. Living in close quarters all the time, it was practically unavoidable and neither of them had ever been particularly shy about nudity around each other. Now, Sam didn't want Dean to see him and it hurt. Dean knew he shouldn't take it personally but it still felt a little like rejection. Sam had trusted him so much up to this point but he couldn't do this, Sam couldn't shed that last piece of armor even for Dean.

"S'cold . . ." Sam murmured as Dean helped him into the the water.

"I know," Dean grimaced in sympathy as Sam shivered, "but you've gotta fever, this will help get your temperature down. You also smell."

"I don't smell anything," Sam blinked slowly at him.

Dean just shook his head and grabbed a washcloth and Sam's body wash that Dean always gave him a hard time about. So girly, why not use soap like a real man? Though Sam always snorted at his Old Spice soap on a rope, which was becoming nearly impossible to find anymore.

Dean soaped up the washcloth and began with washing Sam's shoulders and worked his way down his back, over his chest and arms. At one point he thought "the hell with it" and rolled up his jeans to sit on the side of the bath tub, legs in the tub, so he could reach all of Sam more easily. Sam sat quietly in the bathtub, letting Dean manipulate his body as necessary, shivering occasionally. Dean felt a little bad, the thing about fevers is that they tend to make you feel cold even as your body is burning up. Dean was being very careful and very gentle with his brother. He was pretty thankful that Sam was so out of it that he would probably never remember any of it, Dean didn't think Sam would ever let him live it down if he did. Sam wasn't much for being coddled but he was always grateful and happy when Dean was concerned about him. Though right now "concerned" wasn't quite the right word, outright terrified for his brother would be more accurate.

After rinsing Sam's body of the soap Dean wet his hair to shampoo it. He worked his fingers much like he had all those years ago massaging Sam's scalp as they fell asleep together. Dean wasn't even aware that he'd been keeping up a steady mantra of softly spoken comforting words to Sam during the entire bath.

By the time the shampoo was rinsed away, Sam was shivering almost constantly and Dean's feet and lower calves were freezing. Dean wanted nothing more than to wrap Sam up in the warm blankets but knew that while Sam's was cooler, he still had a fever.

Dean had his brother sit on the edge of the tub so that Dean could dry him off. It was slightly awkward as he didn't exactly know what to do about Sam's underwear. He wanted to get Sam into a clean, dry pair but he wasn't sure if Sam would be able to change them alone and Sam definitely didn't want his help with that. He decided to deposit Sam on the toilet, lid down and hand him a pair of his boxer briefs.

"Hey, can you put these on?" Dean asked a dazed looking Sam who nodded a little, "I'll wait out here." Dean indicated the bedroom and once in there, he closed the door to the bathroom.

It was all he could do not to press his ear against the bathroom door. It seemed like a long time before Sam finally opened the door, still shivering. Dean helped him into the bed and wrapped him up in a clean sheet so that Sam could at least be covered by something. After getting Sam to drink some water, Dean got a bowl of water and a cloth and set it by the bed before stretching out next to Sam. Dean didn't know if he could sleep but either way, he wanted to be close to Sam. His brother curled up on his side, before making a frustrated sound and turned to his back again.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked.

"All the snot goes into one nostril when I'm on my side," Sam whispered.

Dean smiled, that was the most coherent thing that Sam had said in the past four days. He could only hope that it meant Sam was improving.


	20. Nobody's Fault But Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dean might have an act of OOC here but in my own defense, I DIDN'T make him do anything, he did it HIMSELF! Seriously, you try and control Dean Winchester, really, I DARE you! In unfortunate news, still no definitive HIV answers AND the second half of this has some comedy that will probably take away the heavy emotional scene of the first half which I am not best pleased about. I am SUPER nervous about this first half too, I don't know if it's right or if it has the emotional impact I intended. Again, five points for criers. ;)**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean had stayed awake for another hour before sleep finally claimed him. Sam seemed to be sleeping a little easier since the cool bath, even if he was still snoring like a freight train. Dean was surprised he had fallen asleep at all with the noise Sam was making. Then again, Dean was exhausted from worry and lack of sleep.

No amount of fatigue could make him sleep through another of Sam violent nightmares, though.

This one was bad, the worst one yet. Sam was writhing around in the sheet that wrapped around him like a cocoon. If it hadn't been for the sheet, Dean was sure that his brother would be thrashing around frantically.

"Sam . . . Sammy, wake up," Dean sat up an knelt beside his brother, smoothing his palms down Sam's face, noting that while it felt overly warm, it didn't feel as hot as before, although it could have been wishful thinking on his part.

"Nooooo," Sam moaned loudly still struggling, "I don't want - don't want to - please don't make me . . ."

Sam started to struggle even more and Dean was afraid he would hurt himself. He turned and reached over the side of the bed for the cloth soaking in the bowl of water. Then he squeezed it over Sam causing a fair amount of water to cascade over his face. Sam woke wide eyed and panting. Dean immediate started to brush the cloth over Sam's face, soaking up the excess water, settling into a more comfortable sitting position.

"Ssssh, it's okay Sammy, you're okay now." Dean soothed but to his dismay, Sam burst into to tears.

"No," Sam sobbed. "Not okay, Dean, it's not."

"It is," Dean insisted, trying to think of a way to calm his little brother, "you're safe now, Sammy. I promise, no one's going to hurt you ever again."

Sam shook his head violently, "Y - you don't - don't understand, Dean. Not okay, I didn't want - want t - to, I _didn't_ . . . they _made_ m - me."

Fear coiled low in Dean's gut and slowly began to creep up his spine. Sam managed to free his arms and he tried to clutch at Dean once more, his eyes full of fear, sobbing, his breath wheezing, he was becoming hysterical. Dean dropped the cloth in his hand and gathered Sam in his arms and, for reasons he didn't even know, hefted Sam over his lap. He should have been crushing Dean's legs but he was disturbingly light. Sam's head rested on Dean's bicep and Dean cupped his jaw, trying to maintain eye contact.

"Sam, look at me," Dean said, holding Sam close to his body, no longer fearing Sam's fever. "Calm down, Sammy. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, just please, calm down and talk to me."

Sam's hitching breath slowed just slightly, the tears continued to fall steadily, "I'm sorry - I'm sorry." His fingers found Dean shirt, bunching up the fabric in his fists.

"Why, Sammy?" Dean whispered, not even aware that his own body had taken up a slow rocking motion. "What are you sorry for?"

"I didn't want it," Sam whimpered, shaking his head. "I couldn't stop, I wanted to, I couldn't stop."

"I know, Sammy," Dean tried to comfort him. "It's not your fault, none of it is."

Sam just kept shaking his head, looking as though he was trying to will Dean to understand what he was saying. Perhaps it made sense in his own head but whatever was coming out was babbling half thoughts.

"It _is_ ," Sam insisted, "you don't understand."

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean said shakily, trying to hold it together for his brother's sake. "You're really freakin' me out here, just tell me what's wrong. Why are you sorry? What do you think you did? What did they make you do?"

Sam sucked in a shuddering breath, looking terrified he whispered, "I . . . I came."

Dean's blood turned to ice and he stared into Sam's eyes that were clouded with guilt and fear. Revulsion rolled in Dean's stomach, he fought very hard not to be sick, not that much would come up anyway. It wasn't because of what Sam had done, it was another thing that had been done to him. Dean knew enough about how the human body worked and responded, knew that if Sam had actually had an orgasm during the rape it wasn't because he was aroused or enjoying what was happening to him. The disgust he felt wasn't towards Sam but towards his attackers. When Dean thought about the confusion and guilt Sam must have been living with he wanted fly into a rage, break everything in sight, but Sam needed him, he was sobbing uncontrollably which was contributing to his respiratory problems caused by his illness.

"I _came_ ," Sam said again, a look of self loathing on his face, "I did . . . twice, I came twice, they _made_ me . . . I'm sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry."

" _No_ , Sammy," Dean shook his own head, "you don't have to -"

"Don't hate me, Dean," Sam cut him off desperately, "please, _please_ don't hate me. I'm sorry, just please don't hate me."

"Sammy," Dean said softly, smoothing back Sam's hair.

Sam's crying dissolved into whimpers, "I know . . . I know I must disgust you, Dean. Just please don't be mad, please don't hate me."

Dean's heart nearly shattered, he cupped Sam's face again. "Listen to me," he said fiercely, even as he felt the warmth of tears on his own face. "I _do not_ hate you, I could _never_ hate you and you could _never_ , not _ever_ disgust me, do you understand?"

Sam stared at him, his breath still hitching but he was visibly calming, "You don't hate me?"

"Of course not," Dean breathed.

"You don't think I'm disgusting?" Sam looked bewildered, like he couldn't fathom why Dean wouldn't find him repulsive after what Sam had told him.

Dean held Sam tighter to his chest, "No." His body bent protectively over Sam, "I'd never think that about you. It isn't your fault."

"But -" Sam started.

"It's not your fault," Dean said vehemently. "You're not to blame, Sammy, it wasn't your fault."

"Promise?" Sam asked in a small voice, "You promise you don't hate me, that you're not mad at me?"

Dean nodded, "I promised, Sammy." He tried to smile reassuringly but not sure if he pulled it off he added, "I swear on the Impala."

Sam's clenched fist finally released Dean's abused shirt. Even though Sam's tears seemed to finally stop, Dean's were still falling, he wiped them away in annoyance and found the damp cloth and began to clean Sam's face. Sam's eyelids were drooping again and he turned towards Dean and curled up against him. Dean continued to hold his brother deep into the night.

***S*S*S***

_Five year old Sam look up at his brother with wide hazel eyes. Only they weren't quite hazel today. Today, they were blue - gray with that odd hazel middle around his pupil. Dean liked Sam's eye color like that. He sort of envied the fact that Sam's slanted eyes could change color. Dean's were just green, boring old green but Sam's changed everyday, sometimes more than once a day._

_Right now Sam's eyes were trained on Dean as they knelt on a forest floor. Dean was trying to show him how to light a fire with a flint and a knife, in case he was ever caught out in the cold woods alone. Not that Dean would ever let that happen._

_When Dean managed to create sparks, he looked up, triumphant only to see his brother was now wandering away, ducking under a large fern and moving further into the woods._

_Frustrated, Dean got to his feet, "Sammy, get back here!"_

_There was no answer and Dean took off after his wayward brother. However, after passing the fern, the underbrush became thicker, there was no real path to follow. Dean instinctively went forward, sure his little brother hadn't gotten far._

_"Sammy! Sammy, c'mon, you can't just go off into the woods alone." Dean called in annoyance._

_As Dean carried on, not only was his way hindered by the brush, but bushes and stickers started to cling to his clothes, trying to hold him back. Branches hung low and twisted, the deeper into the woods he went the darker it became and Dean started to panic._

_"Sammy? Sammy!" Dean yelled for his younger sibling, fear replacing the frustration in his voice. "Sammy, please, answer me!"_

_There was a shrill scream that came from all around him. Adrenalin shot through Dean's veins and he crashed forward through the woods, headless of all the plant life trying to keep him at bay. The screaming continued and Dean frantically pushed onward calling Sam's name, not even sure that he was going in the right direction since the screams were everywhere._

_He fell through a bush into a clearing and the screams abruptly stopped. Pushing himself up to his knees, Dean saw a figure huddled in the middle of the clearing. The trees above obscured the light, like nightfall but the figured was in the middle of a circle of light, like a spotlight on a stage._

_The figure finally looked up at him, it was his father._

_"You," John said, his voice was filled with malice and grief, "you promised you'd look out for him, you swore you'd take care of him."_

_Dean was confused until he saw the broken bloodied body of Sam, cradled in his father's arms. A roaring filled Dean's ears, no it couldn't be. Not Sammy, not his baby brother._

_"I trusted you to keep him safe," John raged at him. "How could you let this happen?"_

_Dean shook his head, "I - I didn't . . ." he reached out, he needed to touch Sam._

_There was no air, he couldn't breath, his father cradled Sam in his arms, glaring at Dean with what he could only describe as hatred._

_**I'm sorry, I'm sorry** , Dean's mind screamed, **I couldn't protect him, I couldn't save him, it's too late, I'm sorry, so, so sorry.**_

Dean woke with a gasp and the remnants of his dreams quickly faded. All he could recall was trying to get through a forest and being afraid for Sam. He thought his father was in there somewhere but he suddenly couldn't remember anymore.

Dean shivered, the early morning chill creeping through the cabin. He could never understand why it felt so much colder in the morning when the sun rose than at night when there was no sun. At least with the shutters open he could tell it was morning, it wasn't so much the dim light filtered through the curtains and the trees overhead, it was more the symphony of very inconsiderate birds. Weren't birds supposed to migrate in the winter or something? They really weren't much competition for the rumbling snore right next to him though.

With a groan Dean rolled over, groping for the blanket which seemed to be stuck when he pulled at it. He opened one eye and saw that the precious source of warmth was trapped under his brother who was wrapped up in only a sheet but still sweating like a heat wave had just hit. Dean grit his teeth and yanked at the blanket hard enough to dislodge most of it to wrap around his own freezing body.

It took another ten seconds for Dean to sit bolt upright and stare at Sam's sleeping form. Sweat was beaded on Sam' forehead and upper lip and between his chin and lower lip. He was _sweating_. Dean reached out a shaky hand and pressed his fingers against Sam's damp cheek, his damp, blessedly cool cheek. Sam's fever had broken, Dean almost cried in relief. Sudden fatigue, born no doubt from his distress over his brother's illness and taking care of him, overwhelmed him and it was all Dean could do to pull the rest of the blanket free and scoot close enough to Sam to throw the blanket over both of them. Dean was almost immediately asleep despite the snoring and bird's song.

When Dean woke up again in the early afternoon, Sam was curled up on his side, his snoring a little lighter and his skin still cool. If there was any way he could have done it in a manly way, Dean would have skipped to the bathroom. He was so relieved he had finished taking a shower and was in the kitchen making coffee (of which the supply was alarmingly low) before he remembered the night before. Sam's tearful confession and terrible guilt and the rage it had invoked in Dean. His good mood evaporated.

He wondered if Sam was going to remember it, any of it. Saying those names, telling Dean he was afraid of the dark, telling him that he came when he was . . .

If he didn't, was Dean supposed to tell him? Dean didn't like keeping things from Sam. Even back when they were kids and Sam started asking questions about why they didn't have a mom and where Dad always went. Dean never really _lied_ to Sam, just told him to stop asking. Still, he was keeping things from Sam and he had hated it but he just wanted Sam to be a kid for as long as possible. Keeping what their father had told him to do, when they were in the hospital, that was even harder. Even though it was tough telling Sam, it had been better than keeping it a secret.

So if Sam didn't remember those things, which he could very well not, what was Dean supposed to do? Tell him? Not tell him? Hint at it in hopes that it might trigger a memory?

Also, what about this supposed flu? How was Dean going to tell his little brother that it might be the first warning signs of HIV?

By the time Dean decided that these particular problems could wait until Sam was feeling better, he heard a shuffling in the living room.

"Dean?" Sam hoarse voice called sounding terribly stuffed up.

"Hey," Dean entered the living room in time to see a pale, disheveled Sam, dressed in sweats and wrapped in a blanket drop onto the couch. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Sam looked up at him miserably, "I feel like cwap."

"You look it," Dean snorted.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Danks."

Dean shrugged and repressed a snicker, "It's true but you _are_ sick."

Sam leaned sideways on the couch, his head resting on the arm rest, "I'm dirsty."

Dean fetched him a glass of water but when Sam lifted up and started to gulp down the drink, he put a hand on his wrist.

"Whoah, easy there, tiger." He chided, "You're probably a little dehydrated, you chug down water like that you'll make yourself sick."

Sam made a little whining noise but slowed down nonetheless. After three glasses of water, Dean suggested that he try to eat something. Sam shook his head as reclined on the couch claiming that his throat hurt too much, it was all he could do to drink the water.

"Evewyding hurts," Sam moaned, "I can't bweave and my nose is sore." He kicked his feet up on the sofa so he was lying on his side, "I'm dizzy . . . Dean . . . I dink I'm dying . . ."

Although Sam's flippant remark wasn't something Dean was suppose to take seriously, just the complaints of a little brother was feeling like utter shit, Dean picked up a paperback from the mantle and threw it at Sam's shin, hard.

" _Ow!_ " Sam glared at Dean blearily, "Whadya do dat for? I'm siiiiiiiick." He whined out the last word like it was a plea.

"I know your sick, Sam," Dean growled at him, folding his arms over his chest. "You've had a fever for the last four days. I almost had to take you to the hospital. I thought . . . y'know what? Never mind what I thought, you're _not_ dying and I don't want to hear you talk about . . . about _it_ , okay?"

Sam gave a look that was half contrite and half confused, "Four days?"

Sighing, Dean turned around and started to pile wood in the fireplace. He hadn't meant to get so angry but thinking about Sam and dying, how he could have died, even how he could be infected with a deadly disease, it scared him. When something like that scared him he either acted extra cocky or he got pissed. Right now he was settled on pissed but he tried to reign it in.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean slipped some more of the crumpled up paper bag bits between the logs and lit them, they were going to need more paper soon. "You've been pretty out of it for the last four days, don't you remember.?"

Dean kept his back to Sam, not sure what answer he would prefer.

"I don't . . ." Sam sounded dazed, "I guess not." Dean's heart sank a little but at the same time he felt slightly relieved.

"Oh Dean," Sam sounded like he had a sudden epiphany, "I'm sowwy. You've been taking care of me all dat time. I'm so sowwy, I didn't mean to seem ungwatful."

Dean fought down the laugh that threatened to erupt listening to Sam's stuffed up nose hindered speech. He turned around and looked at Sam who's pale face was sticking out the blanket he was wrapped up in as he lay on the couch . . . he looked like a giant chimichanga. The thought made Dean smirk a little.

"Don't worry about it," Dean muttered, it wasn't the reason he was upset in the first place and thankfully, Sam let the matter drop.

Heaving another sigh Dean said, "Look, I gotta head into town."

Sam's eyes widened, "Again?"

"Again . . . Sam's it's been four days," Dean reminded him. "We need some stuff. I want to get a little more gas for the generator, it would be a good idea to get more fire wood. I really need to get you some medicine too, if you really can't eat because of your throat, Sammy . . . you haven't had anything to eat in days, I can't risk you having a relapse or something."

"Fine," Sam sat up, "I'm going wiff you."

"Sam," Dean started warningly.

"I'm going wiff you, Dean." Sam insisted.

Dean was stuck now. He didn't want Sam overexerting himself. His fever had just broken and Dean just wanted Sam to get some much needed rest. On the other hand he hadn't exactly wanted to leave Sam alone, even though he was mostly out of danger. Something tugged the back of his mind and he thought of a deep dark forest.

"Okay but you're gonna bring the blanket and you'll stay in the car." Great, yet another thing that Dean wasn't comfortable with, in and out, sure but a longer amount of time? It's not like he had many options at this point.

Sam nodded in agreement then got up and shuffled into the bedroom to get his shoes and presumably, half a dozen more shirts.


	21. Auto Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Totally giddy right now because imochan has started translating this fic into Italian and posting it on an Italian site . . . WOOHOO! *Happy dance***   
>  **Not much going on in this chapter just Dean taking care of his sick little brother.**   
>  **Inspiration for the fast food stand is King Charley's Drive-In in Snohomish, Washington, the town I grew up in it's next to the highway and I lived right down the road. I don't think their shakes are real ice cream but they do have a huge selection of flavors. They don't get a lot of good review for their food (I dunno, I liked it) but their milkshakes, totally worth it!**   
>  **do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

It was snowing steadily when they stepped outside. It was a bit of a surprise since Dean hadn't even looked outside since waking up. He looked over at Sam who was pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head while still gripping the blanket that was wrapped around him.

"Sure you're up for this?" Dean asked.

"Iz jush snow, Dean." Sam managed to say through his clogged nose.

Sam followed Dean to the Impala, the blanket hitched high to avoid trailing it on the ground. He looked like huge overgrown kid trying to get into the car without letting go of the blanket. It reminded Dean so much of the times they'd get sick as kids but would have to get back on the road with their dad anyway. They'd ended up with quite a collection of scratchy motel blankets.

Dean drove more slowly down the mountain road than usual. Sam actually managed to stay awake the entire drive. That could have been due to the fact that Dean kept making him talk. Though he felt bad because of Sam's sore throat he couldn't help finding the way Sam pronounced things with his stuffed up nose hilarious. Until Sam's voice started to fail him, then Sam had to make his voice kind of high (not _girly_ high, mind you) and breathy to get the words out. The way his voice sounded then made Dean feel . . . _things_ deep down in his gut and he stopped encouraging Sam's chatter.

Dean pulled up outside the pharmacy and cut off the engine. He stared at the building for eight full minutes before Sam nudged him.

"Dude, I don' dink you can just, y'know, _will_ dings out to da car, you havda go in."

Annoyed, Dean rolled his eyes, "I know, Sam, I'm just . . . thinking." He sighed heavily, "You'll be okay out here?"

"I'm in da car, Dean." Sam pointed out unnecessarily, "Whaz gonna happen? Unless a tank rolls drew da parking lot, I dink I'll be okay."

Dean nodded, still completely uncomfortable leaving Sam alone in the car, unprotected and vulnerable. He was just opening the door when Sam spoke up again.

"I guess anoder car could skid in da snow and hit da Impala . . ."

Dean looked at him incredulously, "Dude!" Awesome, now he was worried about Sam _and_ his baby.

"Jush go," Sam insisted. "Da quicker you go da fasder you'll be back."

Dean glared at his brother a minute before getting out, "Just keep the doors locked, man." The last thing he needed was some one trying to steal the Impala with his little brother still in it.

In no time at all, Dean was in the cold and flu isle staring at a bunch of products and feeling slightly confused. Were there this many options when he was a kid? He didn't remember much from being sick back then except for disgusting cough medicine that never seemed to help and VapoRub.

After another few minutes of deliberation while his anxiety being away from Sam grew, Dean pulled out his cell phone and as he suspected, he had a signal while he was in town. Thanking whatever deities watched over cell phone service, he scrolled through his contacts. Then he had another moment of indecision on who exactly to call but figuring mothers where the best at this sort of stuff, he finally picked a name and hit "send".

"Ellen!" Dean said after she picked up, the muffled sounds of the bar in the background. "It's Dean . . ."

***S*S*S***

Dean walked out of the pharmacy with a plastic bag full of germ arsenal. A combo pack of DayQuil/NyQuil, a box of Theraflu, a big jar of VapoRub and two boxes of tissues.

Ellen was a lifesaver and had given him advice on how to help Sam get over this illness quicker.

He had to unlock his door to get in, Sam had nodded off again. The inside of the car was getting chilly again and he wondered what the hell was wrong with him, leaving Sam behind in the car without leaving the keys to keep the heater going.

Sam woke with a start when Dean slammed the door behind him and he deposited the bag in his brother's lap. Sam rifled through it looking mildly interested. He smiled a little at the tissues.

"Wiff lotion?" He questioned.

"You bet," Dean started the up the engine again, "thought you'd like something soft and girly . . . like you."

Sam gave him a feather light punch in the shoulder. Dean thought he probably couldn't manage anything harder at the moment.

Dean stopped at the grocery store and picked up things they were running low on like coffee and firewood. Well, they weren't really running low on firewood but what with the snow, Dean wanted to make sure they had plenty. Then he stopped at the local liquor store, he needed whiskey, good whiskey. He had been stressed out for days and beer wasn't really going to cover it. Speaking of beer, picking up another case sounded like a good idea too. The last stop he made was the gas station to fill the Impala's tank and another five gallon tank for the generator.

Damn, living in the mountains was getting expensive. That didn't stop him from going to the one and only fast food place, in town. It was a stand really. Two drive up windows and outdoor seating. They boasted real ice cream milkshakes in an array of flavors. Dean got Sam a strawberry milkshake but had it thrust back at him after only a sip.

"I can't," Sam grimaced, "id hurts too much."

That was troubling. If Sam couldn't even drink a milkshake without his throat hurting . . . it was a _milkshake_ after all. People with sore throats are supposed to eat ice cream, it makes it feel better.

Over Sam's objections and of him much trying to slap Dean's hands away, Dean felt his throat. His lymph nodes were still extremely swollen. He suggested taking Sam to see a doctor but Sam shook his head violently and looked like he wanted to bolt out of the car so Dean let the matter drop . . . for now.

Sam nodded off yet again before they left town and Dean let him sleep. The drive took twice as long as Dean didn't want the car to slide off the road. But her tires were good and there were no mishaps on the way up the hillside.

Once they were back, first thing Dean did was hustle Sam back inside and put more wood in fire which was just embers now. The logs caught quickly and Dean got Sam settled on the couch (since Sam was stubbornly refusing to get back in the bed), with pillows and another blanket. Sam protested weakly that he was well enough to be able to take care of himself and Dean didn't have to put up such a fuss. Dean just waved away his objections of being treated like a five year old. Honestly, when Sam did get sick he acted five anyway. Though again, he was on autopilot, he'd had to nurse Sam through so many colds and flues, he couldn't help but fall into the same pattern. Dean tucked the blanket around Sam, gave him a dose of DayQuil, a box of tissues and a mug of Theraflu before getting anything else from the car.

The snow was falling fat and heavy as Dean stacked the firewood on the porch. Dean didn't care much about snow but Sam had always loved it, being all for cooler weather. He was also all for using Dean as target practice with snowballs as his ammunition. Dean would try to play along in a snowball fight, he was great at target practice. Sam was so small when they were kids though, and sneaky, so more often then not Dean would just get frustrated and chase Sam down so he could pin him on the ground and shove snow down his shirt . . . lots of it.

Getting back inside with two more bundles of wood he was glad to see that Sam was gingerly sipping the mug of medicated liquid. Dean went back outside and replenished the gas in the generator and gathered the rest of the supplies to bring inside.

He found Sam hunched over the kitchen sink coughing up the rest of the Theraflu.

"Whoa, dude," Dean was at his side in an instant. "You okay? What happened?"

Sam took several deep breaths before turning his watering eyes to Dean, "M'okay. Shouldn've drank dat on an empdy stomach I guess. Really too bad, id was making me feel a liddle bedder."

"Sam, seriously," Dean said sternly, leading him back to the couch. "You need to eat something."

"Wish I could," Sam sniffled, and reached out for a tissue, several of them already littered the top of the coffee table. "Jush hurts so much. I can't do id."

Sam needed to eat, otherwise he'd just get weaker and weaker. Dean went through the bags of supplies until he found a can of chicken broth. It would be warm and probably not make Sam's throat feel any bit better but Dean had to try. He warmed up the broth and brought it to Sam. As expected, Sam waved it away at first.

"Id hurts to swallow," Sam whined.

"Please," Dean said, "you need _something_ , Sammy."

Sam shook his head, faced pinched.

"Sam," Dean sighed, "either eat or I swear to Christ, I will wait until you are asleep and I will pour it down your throat . . . then you'll drown. Now, do you really want to die choking on _broth?_ "

Sam scowled and took the bowl from Dean. When it looked like he was about to pull the same stunt as he had at the hospital by chugging down the soup, Dean glared at him.

"Slow," He said firmly.

Sam made another Sam Winchester patented bitch face and started to take tiny sips from the spoon. He frowned at the broth but kept at it. Dean sighed in relief and went back to putting away the rest of the supplies.

After he was done he brought Sam a glass of water and pill. Sam had only managed to drink a third of the broth but at least it was something.

"Take this," Dean instructed, handing the glass and the pill to Sam.

"What izzit?" Sam asked curiously.

"Multivitamin." Dean told him and when Sam looked at him questioningly, Dean shrugged. "You need to get, I dunno, nutrients 'r somethin' somehow Sam. You haven't eaten in four days. Not to mention the fact that you were barely eating to begin with."

Sam flushed and Dean felt a little bad but Sam took the vitamin and washed it down with the water. Dean gave another sigh. He scrubbed his hand over his face, he was wiped out.

"Tired?" Sam whispered.

Dean nodded, "It's been a long day." (A long week.)

"Sowwy," Sam said.

"Dude," Dean shook his head, "you sound like Elmer Fudd."

"Shud up," Sam said with a pout which was ruined with a yawn.

Spotting the DVDs still stacked above the fireplace Dean said, "Hey, y'wanna watch a movie?"

Sam nodded and Dean got the laptop and set it on the coffee table. He picked out a movie at random, something with Chuck Norris and got a beer from the fridge. Sam moved his legs from the couch and tried to sit up but Dean sat down and lifted Sam's foot and let it rest in his lap and Sam got the idea and brought his other foot to join the first.

They both lounged on the couch, drowsy and warm. Sam kept dozing off and Dean, almost without realizing it, started rubbing Sam's feet, it was mostly due to Dean needing to do something with his hands.

When the movie ended, night had fallen and Dean got up, dislodging Sam's feet. Sam grumbled at the rude awakening and grumbled more when Dean made him get up and led him in the bedroom, giving him another dose of medicine, this time the NyQuil. Sam was nearly asleep again when Dean made him sit up.

"Deeeeaaan," Sam whined, "wanna sleeeeep."

"I know, Sammy," Dean said sounding exhausted to his own ears. "Just one last thing."

Dean took the VapoRub and applied a generous amount to Sam's neck.

Dean knew Sam couldn't smell but he must have recognized the sensation because he asked, "Why are you pudding dat on my neck? Isn't id supposed to go on my chess?"

For some reason he couldn't explain, Dean felt himself flush and he had to clear his throat before answering.

"Just trust me Sam, I know what I'm doing."

Dean already knew that Sam was putting a great deal of trust in him anyway. It was evident how sick Sam was by the fact he wasn't even whining about being treated like a child. Not that Dean could help himself, the whole auto pilot thing after all.

After he was done spreading the rub on Sam's neck he took a clean towel and wrapped it around his neck.

"Okay," Dean sighed, "go ahead and lay back down."

Sam fell back onto the pillows and was almost immediately asleep. Dean soon followed, too tired to even get up and turn off the lights.


	22. I Feel Good . . . Sorta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dean's still being super touchy feely and I'm really enjoying it!**   
>  **Your HIV concerns will be addressed in this chapter. However, I fear that it may not be in the way that y'all wanted or y'all were expecting. I hope it is satisfactory though. *Runs and hides.***   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Sam was slow to wake up. He felt like he was swimming upwards through gel, he couldn't breath properly but he wasn't suffocating either. When he finally was able to open his crusted over eyes, he found himself blinking at his older brother, curled into a ball, just his nose and closed eyes peeking out from the blanket he was ensconced in. Sam smiled sadly at the site. Dean looked so tired even in sleep, there were dark smudges under his eyes. Sam sighed, the familiar feelings of being a burden to his brother washing over him again.

Sam reached up and removed the towel that was wrapped around his neck. He slid out of bed, his toes curling, trying to escape the cold floor, and padded to the bathroom. Sam noted that he didn't feel dizzy, that had to be a good sign. The second box of tissues sat on the bathroom counter. Sam blew his nose three times in succession before groaning in annoyance. He could blow his nose all day long, and the mucus that was clogging the air flow would stubbornly stay put while letting all the other snot through. The tissues would fill up but Sam still couldn't breathe through his nose.

Frustrated, he took another wad of tissues and blew his nose . . . hard.

Taking the tissues away he noticed two things. One, there was the biggest glob of yellow-green snot in the tissues that Sam had ever seen in his entire life. Second, his left nostril was completely clear. Trying not to get too excited he repeated the process (new tissue, naturally) with his right nostril. It produced the same results though the glob of snot this time was somehow, impossibly bigger. Sam could finally breath properly again. He was ecstatic.

Sam tried to swallow a few times. His throat was definitely still sore but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been the night before. He felt his neck and also found that the swelling of his lymph nodes had gone down almost completely.

Sam took a quick shower and took his pill regimen to the kitchen on tiptoe as to not wake his brother. He downed his pills which also included the multivitamin with a glass of orange juice which was surprisingly easy to swallow. He followed it up with a shot of DayQuil.

After lighting a new fire, Sam carefully got his pillow and a blanket from the bed. Even though he was feeling better he still tired easily and piling wood in the fireplace hadn't help matters any. Peering at the books on the mantle Sam shook his head, it was mostly Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Peter Straub . . . it sort of amazed Sam that Dean would pick the horror genera over anything else, considering their lives. Then again, Sam liked Stephen King too but he liked Clive Barker better . . . and okay he liked H.P. Lovecraft dammit! Dean probably didn't even know Lovecraft existed.

Sam looked at one of the larger hardcover books, it was Koontz and it was three of his novels all in one, _Servants of Twilight_ , _Darkfall_ and _Phantoms_. He'd read _Servants of Twilight_ years ago but hadn't read _Darkfall_ and only seen the movie for _Phantoms_. Sam shrugged to himself and picked up the book.

Propping himself up on the couch, Sam opened the book and began to read. He didn't really read for leisure anymore. He had done a little recreational reading while he was at Stanford but he mostly had to study back then. He supposed he didn't now because hunting took up too much time.

Sam remembered a classmate whose father was dying, they kept him at home until the end, he had to be in a hospital bed in the living room. She'd bought him books to read but he wouldn't read them claiming he was too tired. After he passed away she'd said she thought the real reason was because he was afraid that he'd start reading a book and then never get to finish it. Sam sometimes thought if that was an underlying reason he didn't really read fiction books anymore. Maybe he subconsciously thought he'd die during a hunt and never finish the book he was reading.

Sam shook himself, pushed his random thoughts away and went back to re-reading _Servants of Twilight._

He fell back asleep halfway through chapter three.

***S*S*S***

_The floor was smooth concrete but that was all Dean could see in the circle of light. The walls disappeared into the darkness so he couldn't tell how big the room was. He was alone and he felt uneasy in the unfamiliar surroundings. As Dean looked around again, he realized he wasn't alone after all, Sam was standing at the other end of the light circle, his back to Dean._

_"Sam?" Dean called out._

_Sam turned around slowly, a look of confusion on his face as he took in his surroundings. He appeared both startled and relieved to see Dean and mouthed his name but Dean didn't hear Sam's voice at all._

_Dean started towards him and just where they were about to meet in the middle he smacked right into an invisible wall and rebounded back a few steps. He stood there, rubbing the point of impact on his forehead and watched Sam approach the invisible wall with more caution, holding his hands out in front of him. Soon Sam had his hands pressed against what looked like glass and he was mouthing Dean's name. Sam looked distressed and a little panicked. Dean pressed his hands against the glass as well, in the same spot as Sam, as though if they were both touching it at the same time the barrier would melt away._

_"Sammy," Dean shouted, even though he could tell by the fact that his brother was shouting to him that it was useless, he wouldn't be able to hear Dean. Still Dean couldn't just stay silent watching as Sam was getting more and more anxious._

_"It's okay, Sammy!" Dean yelled, "Calm down, we're gonna figure this out."_

_Then he saw them, three dark figures coming out of the shadows behind his brother. It was like they were made of the darkness, just black figures with no features, they were closing in on Sam._

_"Sam, look out!" Dean hit the barrier, "Behind you!"_

_Sam looked confused for a minute then whirled around to face the dark figures. The lunged for him and Sam tried to fight them but fighting shadows was like fighting smoke, it was impossible. The figures took Sam down easily, pinning him to the ground. Sam looked at Dean imploringly, fear and pain in his eyes. He was mouthing Dean's name over and over and Dean could imagine the plea in Sam's voice and it was heartbreaking._

_"SAM!" Dean screamed, kicking and slamming his fists against the invisible wall, "GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF MY BROTHER YOU ASSHOLES! SAMMY!_

_Dean kept hitting the wall over and over, trying to get through, trying to save his brother._

_"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Dean screamed at the shadows, not caring if they could hear him or not. "YOU HURT MY BROTHER AND I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"_

_His knuckles bled and his voice became hoarse as he screamed Sam's name over and over. Sam was being dragged along the floor into the shadows. Sam clawed the floor uselessly, his eyes streaming and his mouth open in a silent scream._

_Dean couldn't get to him, couldn't help, couldn't save his little brother from the shadows. He hit and punched the barrier between them, sobbing his brother's name helplessly as Sam was swallowed by the darkness._

_Dean sank to the floor, smacking his abused hands weakly against the wall, still whimpering Sam's name until he finally slumped over . . ._

And woke up warm in a nice cozy bed.

It took a few minutes for Dean to remember where he was. Once he did, his heart settled into a more natural rhythm. At least until the dream came back to him and the emotions he felt in the nightmare hit him again, full force.

Dean looked over to the side of the bed Sam usually occupied. A stab of panic shot through him to find the space beside him empty. In his haste to get out of bed, he tumbled out of it instead, hitting his hip on the hard wood floor. When the hell was he going to stop falling out of bed? With a groan he pulled himself up and scrambled to the bedroom door.

"Sam?" He called to the empty living room, there was a blanket and pillow on the couch but no sign of his brother. Dean's dread was building, he called out louder, " _Sammy?_ "

"Yeah?" Came the answer from the kitchen.

Dean hobbled into the kitchen, hand rubbing his sore hip. There was Sam looking just fine standing next to the coffee maker like he didn't just give Dean a heart attack.

Dean scowled. "What are you doing up?" _And scaring the crap outta me?_

Sam frowned, "Didn't know I wasn't allowed to get up before you. I woke up a few hours ago, you were still sleeping, you looked really tired, I didn't want to wake you." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking chagrined. "I kinda passed out again on the couch. When I woke up and saw you were still asleep, I thought I would make you some coffee for when you finally got up."

Dean blinked, Sam sure seemed chatty this morning. Hey wait . . .

"You don't sound like Elmer Fudd anymore." Dean cocked his head to one side.

Sam gave him a lopsided smile, "I feel much better today, that VapoRub really worked."

Huh.

Well, Dean was going to have to assess Sam's health himself to be satisfied.

***S*S*S***

Sam realized too late that his proclamation of feeling much better was a mistake because the moment the words left his mouth, Dean steered him back to the couch and proceeded to examine him. Dean felt Sam's neck and felt his forehead, he broke out the first aid kit and dug out an old thermometer that Sam refused to use until Dean doused it with a generous amount of rubbing alcohol. Then Dean asked Sam two dozen questions about how this felt and how that felt and if he was dizzy and if he was tired.

Of course Sam was tired, Dean was putting him through the first, second and third degree.

When Dean was satisfied enough to stop poking and prodding him and basically interrogating him, Sam could still feel Dean watching him. It was unnerving. Unnerving enough that when Sam was cutting up an apple to see if he could choke that down, he ended up slicing his finger.

Dean was at the table, clutching a cup of coffee in both hands when he heard Sam's hiss of pain.

"Sammy?" He said, standing up quickly, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam answered dismissively, reaching for the roll of paper towels on the counter. "M'fine, just cut myself."

Dean approached his brother, "Here, let me see."

Sam turned, keeping his back to Dean, annoyed he said, "It's fine, I just need a bandage."

"Just let me take a look," Dean insisted trying to get in front of Sam.

"No," Sam tried to shrug past him, "I can take care of it myself."

"Sam," Dean grabbed his wrist, "Just let me -"

" _No_ , Dean, don't _touch_ it," Sam violently yanked his arm away.

The first aid kit was sitting on the coffee table and Sam sat down and rifled through it, the paper towel wrapped tightly around his finger. Sam could feel Dean staring at him, he couldn't seem to stop the tremor in his hands.

Dean leaned against the wall and watched him for a minute, "What's going on, Sam?"

Sam avoided looking at Dean as wrapped a band-aid around his finger. Sam knew that Dean would question it, they didn't usually bother with such small injuries.

"Sam?" Dean pressed.

He carefully closed the first aid kit then stared at the fire for a few minutes. Dean was being unusually patient letting Sam think for a few minutes.

Finally, Sam took a deep breath, "I just . . . I don't think . . . it's a good idea."

"Don't think _what_ is a good idea?" Dean asked calmly.

Sam swallowed, "I don't want you to touch my blood, Dean."

The silence stretched between them until Sam couldn't take it anymore, "A couple weeks ago I looked up some stuff about HIV online. There was stuff about how sometimes you get this thing after you've been infected, it's like the flu . . ."

"Acute Viral Syndrome," Dean said softly, walking over to sit down next to him.

Sam looked at Dean in surprise and Dean nodded, looking into the flames of the fire, "Yeah, I uh . . . I read the pamphlet the doc gave us."

Sam nodded and leaned back, also staring at the fire while another long silence followed.

Dean cleared his throat, "I guess we'll have to get to a clinic -"

"No," Sam shook his head, cutting Dean off.

Dean turned and frowned at him, "Sam, this is serious, if you've been infected -"

"If I've been infected," Sam tried to keep his voice even, "it might not even show up in a blood test yet. If the test comes back negative I'll just have to be tested again in five months anyway. It won't solve anything."

"Sam -"

"No," Sam said softly again. "I'm . . . I'm thinking that I just had the flu, I didn't get a shot this year, I meant to but I never got around to it. Besides I tested negative in the hospital and . . ." Taking a deep breath he steeled himself for what he was going to say next. "They . . . they used . . . condoms . . ."

Sam closed his eyes, he didn't want Dean looking at him right now, he didn't want anyone looking at him. He just wanted to sink down into the floor and disappear for a while. Sam hated having to talk about the things that happened because he didn't want to remember it, he just wanted to forget it. Sam was always reminded that he never would forget what happened, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wished it. That realization sliced through him like a knife every time, sending a bolt of pain he felt in his very soul. Sometimes though, it was nice to pretend that nothing ever happened.

"Condoms?" Dean's voice reminded Sam he wasn't alone, he hadn't disappeared after all.

"They said they didn't know where I'd been," Sam said bitterly, opening his eyes and wrapping his arms tightly around himself. "I think it really had more to do with DNA evidence though."

"Sam . . ."

"Dean please," Sam sighed, "I don't wanna talk about this, I don't want to talk about anything, please."

"Sammy," Dean said again, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, tugging on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, "c'mere."

Sam resisted for maybe half a second before giving in and leaning on Dean, his head falling onto Dean's shoulder. Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulder and started a soothing rubbing motion on Sam's arm. Sam melted into his brother's body heat and to his annoyance and frustration, he felt tears pricking the back of his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the sensation away but they spilled over anyway at Dean's words.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy." Dean said softly, "Everything will be fine, I promise."

Sam willed himself to believe his brother, if just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Just want to say, this is exactly what I personally experienced when I had the flu 13 years ago. My throat hurt too much to eat a Frosty from Wendy's and I coughed up the TheraFlu. The VapoRub thing (advice from my mother)? Totally worked, even the part about the snot is true (which was gross and weird), it was like I was better overnight. So if it seems like Sam was all of a sudden better, well, I had the same thing happen.**   
>  **I'm sorry, but Sam isn't gonna get tested again until the six month mark, he just doesn't see the point and I am inclined to agree.**


	23. Black Mountain Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lots of UST in the first part . . . lots. Dean's in denial about it (naturally) but I'm not sure if Sam notices, he acts like he doesn't but that doesn't mean that he doesn't . . . . did that make sense?**   
>  **The whole thing with the deer hunt they talk about, kinda canon, it's in John's journal, plus they did it for the anime (maybe in the comic book, I dunno) 'cept in the anime Sam just made the animal (I think they made a moose for some reason) explode . . . yeah anime Sam's powers are a LITTLE bit different then TV Sam's power, just FYI. Plus, technically Sam was seven not eight because it was March . . . just to be accurate. OH and Dean didn't wound the deer first. Okay, okay, I'm done.**   
>  **And I'm really, really sorry about how this chappy ends. *Runs and hides again.***   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean sat at the kitchen table as he traced the letters in the margin of his father's notebook with his ballpoint pen again. He was making quite and indentation in the paper. He had written the names that Sam had told him, along with the names of the town, the state, the bar they were at, the name of the hot bartender (Vivian if you could believe it), the name of the motel. All of it was written sideways on a random page in John's journal. Dean couldn't seem to stop himself going over all the information everyday, sometimes retracing the lines of the letters, like he was afraid that they would somehow fade away and leave Dean with nothing.

As though Dean could forget, like any of it could somehow slip his mind.

He wishes.

At the same time he doesn't.

Dean couldn't afford to forget, not for Sam's sake. No matter how much time passed, he would get his revenge on those bastards.

It had been a week since Sam started to recover from his illness. Which made it practically a month since Sam had been attacked. Sometimes it seemed like longer and then sometimes it seemed like only yesterday. They hadn't hunted in almost a month either.

Normally Dean would be itching to get out there again, start bringing down the bad guys, keep trying to kill ol' yellow eyes. Right now though, he was content to stay right where he was. Sam seemed to be doing better out here. He had gradually started eating more as his throat improved. Dean wouldn't say that Sam was eating a lot or as much as he used to or as much as he should but at least it wasn't just orange juice, broth and water anymore. He hadn't even had a panic attack since the restaurant.

When they were trapped inside too long, Sam had managed to talk Dean into exploring the woods around them. Dean wasn't much for nature walks but he knew both Sam and him needed to get out of that tiny cabin every now and then. He wasn't about to let Sam walk around in the woods alone anyway.

Dean was a little surprised they weren't at each others throats yet. Normally, they had a hunt to occupy their time and Dean at least had bar near by. There was a bar in town but Dean was unsure of the clientele and still he wasn't taking Sam anywhere that might be a potential risk. He hadn't forgotten the comments of the guy at the store and any ideas the locals might get.

They hadn't spent this much uninterrupted time together since they were kids. However, it seemed like they didn't get on each others nerves very much here. When Sam wasn't reading or sleeping, he was on his laptop, either playing a game or he was typing . . . Dean didn't know what he was typing and he was a little afraid to ask. Sam just seemed the kind of guy to have a computer diary like on Sex and the City and that was too creepy to contemplate. Not that Dean had ever watched Sex and the City . . . like, _ever_.

Dean spent most days tuning up the Impala (he remembered he actually _did_ have chains for the tires and dug them out, it was getting pretty snowy now), taking care to warm her up and get the snow off her every day, obsessing over the names etched in his father's notebook, cleaning guns, sharpening knives, playing cards and watching movies on the laptop with Sam. It was quiet a lot but a comfortable quiet. If it got too quiet, Dean could go out the car and listen to his tapes at least.

Movie time was quickly becoming his favorite time. It wasn't just a break in the silence it was something else that was comfortable and kind of familiar. They could just sit back and watch a movie and it was like being in a hotel with free HBO. It felt normal, they could have a beer, relax and if they were watching a comedy Dean could hear Sam laugh again. It had nothing to do with the fact that Sam had gone from having his feat in Dean's lap to having his head in Dean's lap. Nothing at all . . . just Sam angling for a scalp massage, that's all it was . . . yep.

The nightmares hadn't gone away though. Sam still had them, thankfully not every single night and at least when he did, Dean was right there to sooth him. He'd gotten used to sleeping in the same bed with Sam, it was easy to fall into that old habit. Dean had even gotten used to waking up with his arms full of geeky brother every morning, or even having Sam plastered against his back.

It was Dean's nightmares that were increasing. A different dream every time but the theme remained the same. Losing Sam, having Sam taken from him, Dean's inability to protect him, to save him. Sometimes his father was there, angry and disappointed in Dean's failure. When Dean would wake up from these dreams he would just curl up closer to Sam and he would feel slightly better know that for right now, Sam was still with him and safe. The feelings of failing his brother would remain, though.

It didn't help that sometimes Sam still talked in his sleep, saying things that reminded Dean that he still hadn't brought up Sam's confessions to him when he'd had a fever. At first Dean had been shocked that he'd hadn't thought about it since Sam's fever had broken. Sam had no idea that he had confessed to climaxing during his rape, it was something that he obviously didn't want Dean to know about. Sam had revealed his fears that Dean would find him disgusting and hate him. Dean realized that Sam didn't have the memories of Dean assuring him that he didn't hate him and was certainly not disgusted by Sam. So now, Sam was still carrying around that secret and Dean hated the thought of that but he didn't know how to broach the subject with with him.

Dean also hadn't told him about the names though he wasn't eager to share that with Sam either.

Sam walked into the living room just then, carrying a bundle of clothing, Dean quickly closed the notebook and shoved it to the far end of the table, next to the counter. He looked back over in time to see his brother shoving one item of clothing after another into the fire. Frowning he got up and went to the fireplace.

After the last of the clothing was in the fire, Dean asked, "Sam? What're you doin'?"

Sam stayed crouched in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames for a few minutes before answering quietly, "They have stains, I can't get them out . . . I don't want them."

Dean had noticed a sweatshirt and a hoodie go into the fire and knew it wasn't just the bloodstained clothes that Sam was burning, it was the clothes he was wearing the night . . . the night it happened.

The smell of burning cloth made Dean shake himself slightly, "Hey, y'wanna get outta here for a while?"

Sam looked up surprised then smiled a little, stand up and stretching his freakishly long limbs. His shirts rode up a bit, exposing a strip of pale stomach and for some reason it made Dean swallow hard and look away.

"Mm, yeah," Sam responded on a sigh and Dean could feel his cheeks ignite with heat . . . the fuck was wrong with him?

Dean's original plan was to take off somewhere, anywhere, in the Impala but suddenly the idea of being in a confined space didn't seem like a good idea.

"Let's uh, let's go for a walk." Dean said instead and his voice didn't _quite_ crack.

Sam smiled wider, "'Kay," he headed to the bedroom to get his boots and probably fifty more shirts.

When Sam had enough layers of clothing, including a warm hat, a scarf and gloves and Dean had a hat that was forcefully shoved onto his head by Sam (and knife in his boot, gun at his back), they headed out. With Dean leading the way, they went around the house and started weaving through the trees, they went in a different direction every time they had done this. Dean always made sure they walked in as straight as a line as possible because he was absolutely not getting lost in the woods in the middle of winter. Though really, being brought up the way they were, Sam and him could most likely survive several weeks in the woods even in the winter time.

It wasn't snowing now but there had been some light snow that morning. It didn't make much difference though, not much snow reached the ground, the trees branches catching most of it.

Dean set a slow pace, keeping track of Sam's slightly labored breathing as he followed a few paces behind him.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean said after they'd been walking for twenty minutes. "You doin' okay?"

"Yeah." Sam said from behind him, though he sounded a little too winded and Dean stopped.

Sam stopped beside him and leaned against a tree. Dean mirrored him, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, he didn't have gloves.

"Sorry," Sam panted, "I used to be able to run in the woods, guess if a Wendigo showed up right now, I wouldn't get very far."

"Wouldn't get very far anyway, Sammy." Dean said as he toed the frozen ground, "Fuckers are fast."

Dean frowned, he didn't want to think about any monsters coming after his brother right now. Especially since Sam was probably right, if anything came up on them right now it would be up to Dean to protect his brother in his weakened physical shape. It had only been a month but coupled with the illness Sam had dropped an alarming amount of weight which was evident every time Dean woke with his brother trying to climb inside his skin. Dean would covertly rub his hands down Sam's back and over his side and even through the sweatshirt, he could feel Sam's ribs and how much smaller his waist was. Dean was doing everything he could trying to get Sam to eat more and Sam tried, he really did but there was only so much his shrunken stomach could handle.

"Remember that time," Sam suddenly said, "when you and Dad went out to hunt deer in the middle of the night?"

John had done a lot of that, it wasn't for sport, it was training, live target practice.

"Which time?" Dean leaned his head against the tree with a wry smile.

"The time I found you, when you fell," Sam said quietly.

Dean's smile faded, of course he could remember that. Dean was twelve and John had taken him to hunt and Dean had wounded a buck. It had gotten away and Dean had gone after it only to fall down, in the same clearing as the deer, losing his gun in the process. And Sam . . . Sam wasn't even supposed to be there. They had left him behind, asleep at Bobby's. Apparently he'd woken up and found Dean gone along with John, it was Dean that he wanted though and he'd wandered outside. Right to the man in the car that had been at the gas station, the one that convinced Sam to walk away from the Impala to talk to. The one that prompted another long lecture from their father about talking to strangers, he'd really laid into Dean about it, he was supposed to keep an eye on Sam after all. Sam let that same guy give him a ride to where Dean and John where hunting. Dean never could understand how Sam could have found him, an eight year old boy wandering the woods at night in his pj's and slippers.

"I shot that deer," Sam said just as softly.

"Yeah," Dean sighed, "I remember."

"It was _why_ I shot it though," Sam titled his head to the side, looking at Dean.

Dean had to smile again, "You thought it took my gun."

"I _thought_ it was trying to _hurt_ you." Sam looked away into deeper woods, "That was Dad's training though. To see everything as a threat."

Dean got ready to defend their father's parental decisions growing up but Sam kept going.

"I guess I didn't pay close enough attention, or maybe I just forgot as we got older." Sam sighed still staring into the distance, "I didn't think anything outside of a hunt was much of a threat anymore."

"Sam," Dean began, not sure what he was going to say.

"Lets keep going," Sam said, pushing off the tree.

Dean followed behind his brother this time, so that he could keep an eye on him and so that Sam could walk at his own pace.

After a few minutes Dean said, "Why the hell do people walk around in the woods?"

"It's usually called hiking," Sam said, "people like to hike. Like being close to nature . . ."

"I hate nature," Dean grumbled.

"Then why are _you_ walking around in the woods?" Sam chuckled.

"In case you haven't noticed," Dean muttered, "we are in the middle of no where. It's either the cabin, the woods or going into town."

"Why not go into town?" Sam asked.

"You've been to town with me right? It's not even a one horse town, Sammy. It's a no horse town, there is nothing but a couple of stores, a salvation army, a gas station, one bar, and that's about it." Dean was practically whining.

"And the fast food stand," Sam pointed out, "probably a police station and it would be sort of irresponsible not to have a fire station. Most likely they have vet and a small clinic at least, it's a hunting town after all . . ."

"Did I ever tell you that you're a know it all pain in the ass?" Dean groused.

Sam tossed a smirk over his shoulder, "Once or twice."

After ten minutes, Sam stopped and Dean almost walked right into him.

"Watch it, Sam," Dean said, "what's up?"

Sam moved forward and into a large clearing, the whole place covered in a thick blanket of blinding white sparkling snow.

"Whoa." Dean was impressed in spite of himself.

Sam began to trek across the space. Dean could see the snow was broken in crisscross patterns of animal tracks. Most of the snow was untouched though.

Virgin snow, thought Dean and he smirked.

Sam was more than halfway across the space and Dean started after him.

"Hey Sam," he called only to see his brother suddenly slip in the snow, his long legs going out from under him, limbs flailing wildly, landing in a spectacular sprawl.

Dean stopped short, clapping his hand over his mouth. Sure he hoped that Sam was okay but that fall had been ridiculously hilarious. When he trusted himself to speak, he lowered his hand.

"You okay, Sammy?" He called in a strained voice.

"Yeah," Sam replied sounding slightly rueful. "I think there's a pond here or something, there's ice."

Getting the affirmation that his little brother was not grievously injured Dean let loose his repressed laughter. Not a chuckling laughter, great guffaws at his brother's expense. In a matter of moments he was doubled over clutching his stomach with tears of mirth in his eyes.

That was likely the reason he didn't see the snowball that smacked him the the side of the head, effectively cutting off his laughter.

Dean brushed away the snow from his head and turned to glare at Sam who was making another huge snowball in the giant mitts he called hands. His gloves were off because Dean had once told him, you can't make a decent snowball with gloves on. An evil smile spread across Sam's face as he fixed Dean with a menacing stare.

Dean's eyes narrowed and he bent and scooped a handful of snow, moving closer to his target, "Oh, it's on now, little brother."

"You think so?" Sam said, beginning to circle around, keeping Dean at a distance.

"Bring it on, ya pansy," Dean taunted.

There followed the biggest snowball fight in recent Winchester history. Each one pitching snowballs at the other and each one dodging. Neither managing perfect shots but neither managing to escape all together as they were both very good shots and they knew one another well enough to know what they were about to do. The kept circling around and around, Dean working ever closer to end this the only way he knew how.

When the opportunity presented itself, Dean lunged at his brother, knocking him down and had him pinned on his back in a matter of minutes. Dean straddled him just above the waist, effectively, trapping Sam's arms, heedless of the snow soaking through the denim of his jeans. Sam struggled in futility for a while, trying to throw Dean off but was too inhibited by the snow.

Finally, Sam gave up, "Fine, you win, happy now?"

It was Dean's turn to give Sam an evil smile, "Not yet." He grabbed a handful of snow, "Remember when we were kids, what would happen when I caught you during a snowball fight?"

Sam eyes widened almost comically, "No . . ."

"Oh yes," Dean nodded then began to shovel liberal amounts of snow down Sam's shirt.

Sam fairly shrieked at the sensation of the cold snow against his chest. His legs kicked wildly and he again tried to buck Dean off. By the time Dean was satisfied and all the fight at drained out of Sam, both were breathless with laughter.

"I hate you so much," Sam panted but he was smiling

"I know you do, Sammy." Dean patted Sam's chest were the snow was slowly melting inside his clothes, Sam winced.

As Dean stared down at his brother's flushed, happy face, he became very aware that this was definitely not a position he wanted to be in. Even as certain parts of his anatomy were disagreeing with his decision, Dean rolled off of Sam and stood, offering his hand to help him up.

As Sam stood, hastily trying to get the rest of the snow out of his clothes Dean said, "Let's get back to the cabin. It'll be dark soon."

Sam checked his watch with a frown, "It's only one thirty."

"At the pace you walk at, we'll be lucky to get back before six," Dean commented.

Sam looked ready to start throwing snowballs again but instead followed Dean into the line of trees where they had come from.

"Y'know I'm gonna get you for that snow thing right?" Sam said.

Dean snorted, "In your dreams, Sasquatch."

The rest of the walk to the cabin, Dean tried to forget the feeling of Sam writhing under him.

***S*S*S***

Sam glanced up from the couch as Dean sighed. Standing by the table he looked into his wallet forlornly before pocketing it. It had been three days since their impromptu snowball fight and yet another shopping trip and further depleted the on-hand monies.

"Dude," Sam said, turning his attention back to his laptop, "if you need cash, why don't you just y'know, do what you normally do and hustle."

"Because genius," Dean went over and knocked his brother's feet off the couch before taking a seat, "I'm not about to hustle at the _one bar_ in town and have all the yokels with their bear guns wanting to blow my brains out over it."

Planting his feet directly in Dean's lap, Sam shrugged. "Why don't you just go to the next town over."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Rosendale is the next town, it's an hour and half away, Sammy. You'd fall asleep on the way there and then you'd be whining about going home before things got interesting, not worth the tiny amount of cash I'd get out of it."

"Who said anything about 'we'?" Sam stared at the screen in front of him.

"The fuck are you talkin' about now, Sam?" Dean grumped.

"I don't have to go with you," Sam shrugged again. "You can just go there, hustle some pool or play some poker, darts, whatever and come back."

Dean stared at him as though Sam had just suggested that they join a vampire clan. Or maybe create an army of zombies for fun.

Sam glanced up from the computer, "What?"

"You're joking, right?" Dean said in disbelief, "Like I'm gonna just leave you here, alone. Then I'm gonna drive all that way, just to get some more cash."

Sam sighed, "You said yourself, you didn't wanna use the credit cards out here just in case some one gets suspicious. We need the cash for as long as we stay here. You go out without me all the time."

"Not usually when it's that far away," Dean shook his head. "And not since . . ." He let the rest of the sentence go unfinished.

"Not since what?" Sam slowly closed the lid of the laptop, "Not since I was raped?"

Dean flinched slightly, not looking at Sam.

"It's not a dirty word, y'know." Sam said softly, looking at his brother evenly. "It happened and . . . we're doing the best we can. Look, Dean, you've been awesome about everything, you've been here for me and given me what I need, I can't tell you how much that means to me. Not without you complaining anyway. Eventually though, we're gonna have to be more that three feet away from each other for more than ten minutes at a time. You know that."

Sam watched Dean's jaw flex as he stared into the fire. That's what they did now, they spent time looking at the fire when they couldn't look at each other.

"I'm fine." Sam said, taking his feet out of Dean's lap and tucking them under himself. "Really, I'm a hell of a lot better then I was, thanks mostly to you. We've gotta do this Dean, you know we do."

With a groan Dean pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, "I know, Sam." He looked at his brother miserably, "I just don't know if I can. I don't know if I'll be able to leave you here, without me, I won't be here if you need me. You won't even be able call me if you need me."

"I'll be okay," Sam insisted, "I mean, I've got an arsenal here don't I?"

The weapons duffel was stashed in the bedroom and Sam could practically see Dean trying to calculate how long it would take Sam to get a weapon to defend himself if something _did_ happen.

To be honest, Sam was nervous about the idea of Dean leaving him for so long. He'd been thinking lately though, they were never going to leave this cabin if they couldn't stand being away from one another. It wasn't that Sam didn't like the way they'd settled into a semi routine life out here, away from everything. It was just that he knew that he couldn't hide from the world forever. Dean and him would have face reality sooner or later and they had to start somewhere.

Besides, he felt safe and comfortable up in the woods. It was quiet, no people around to get too close to him.

Sam watched Dean worry his bottom lip and spoke up, "Look, how about this. You get in the car, you start driving out to Rosendale. If you start freaking out or you really, _really_ can't handle leaving me here, you turn around and come back. How's that?"

Dean didn't look entirely convinced. It took almost another hour of persuasion to get Dean to finally agree to giving it a try.

After double checking all the salt lines, Dean was pulling on his jacket, "Keep the door and the windows locked."

"I will," Sam responded, his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"And keep your gun on you at all times," Dean continued.

"Okay." Sam nodded.

"Mind the salt lines -"

"Yes, Dad." Sam smirked.

"Cute, Sam," Dean scowled, "real cute."

"Dean, I'm not a latchkey kid or anything, okay?" Sam smiled, "I'll be alright, we need this, _I_ really need to do this. I need to prove to myself that I can take care of myself. _You_ need to be able to leave me alone without being worried that something's gonna happen that I can't handle."

Dean looked miserable but nodded, "Okay, I'm going but I get _one_ feeling that something isn't right -"

"You'll come break down the door," Sam gave him crooked smile.

Dean rolled his eyes, "At least eat something while I'm gone."

Dean left grumbling to himself. He wouldn't leave the porch until Sam closed and locked the door behind him. Sam watched from the window as Dean pulled away from the cabin and started down the hillside. Then he was alone.

All alone.

Sam shivered and put some more wood in the fire. He couldn't remember feeling so uncomfortable being by himself before. Maybe during a hunt or when he was four years old. He was an adult now though and there was no hunt, just him alone in a quiet cabin. A very quiet, isolated cabin. A quiet, isolated cabin with no phone service and why did he think this was a good idea?

"Stop being stupid," Sam said out loud as he picked up his laptop and one of the DVDs that were littering the coffee table. "Everything is fine."

Two movies and two beers later, Sam really was fine. This wasn't so bad. Dean had been gone nearly four hours now. Nothing unusual happened and Sam didn't feel at all threatened being by himself. Yeah, he could do this.

As the end of the fifth hour approached however, he became restless. Sam had lost interest in the movies, he tried to read but nothing held his attention.

Finally he went back to his laptop and started to work on the supernatural database he was trying to compile. He'd been working on it for days now, trying to figure out the best format for what he had in mind. He hadn't had a chance to delve into his father's journal yet as Dean always seemed to have it with him. Sam frowned and looked around himself, surely Dean hadn't taken it with him.

After a search of the surrounding areas turned up nothing he went and scoured the bedroom. Sam finally unearthed it from under the corner of Dean's side of the mattress. Odd.

Sam took the journal and the laptop over to the kitchen table. He began flipping through the pages idly, peering at the newspaper articles, and the drawings and photos with interest. He really should scan these, if they were important enough for John to paste in the journal after all. Some of the newspaper clipping were just headlines and seemed not to have to much to do with where ever they were placed in the journal. How would he label those?

In the middle of the journal Sam frowned, there were words written in the margins that he had never seen before, they were dark and it seems like who ever wrote them had pressed down excessively hard. He turned the journal sideways.

_Tavian, Darian, Julian . . ._

Sam's hands began to shake he felt like he was about to be sick. The names started to repeat themselves in his head over and over in his head. He fell out of the chair and crawled backwards, away from the table, from the journal, as fast as he could until he hit a wall. He couldn't breath as the memories started to crowd his head and he shook his head, _not again, please not again._

He remembered when he heard those names and he could recall trying to commit them to memory. Sam had needed to remember their names until . . . until Julian . . . _until Julian broke him_ . . .

_No air, can't breath, it's so dark, please stop, don't want to, please, it hurts, make it stop . . ._

Sam's vision dimmed as he descended into a panic attack.

This time, his brother wasn't there to bring him out again . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm so, so sorry! :'(**


	24. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Okay so liberal use of the word "baby", IT'S NOT MY FAULT! Dean REALLY freaked out this chapter, he seriously started to scare me towards the end. If he makes you cry let me know.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean had made it to Rosendale without turning back. In fact when he walked away from the first bar with $200 profit from pool, he was feeling pretty good. Maybe Sam had been right, maybe they could do this, things could get back to where they had been before.

It was a little while later, in the middle of a heads up poker game, he got this sudden queasy feeling in his stomach and this tiny niggling in the back of his mind that something wasn't right. He tried to ignore it but as the feeling grew he knew that it was somehow connected to Sam. He needed to get back to his brother.

Taking the $70 he just won (and would usually keep going, the guy he was playing was an obvious fish who thought he was a baller) he took off. The farther he got from Rosendale, the more his feeling of unease grew and he knew, without a doubt, something was horribly wrong.

Dean usually took back roads, easier to speed down the road, that way without getting pulled over. On highways he tried to keep it closer to the speed limits . . . sorta. He broke every speed limit the to get to the cabin.

When he finally did get back, he sat behind the wheel staring at the little building. Nothing looked wrong on the outside, it looked just as he'd left it. The lights were on, it was too dark to see if there was smoke coming from chimney but there must have been. Dean slowly got out of the Impala and made his way to the cabin door. His actions belied the fact that his heart was jack hammering against his ribcage, he was nearly panicking.

Dean knocked on the door, "Sam?"

There was no answer and if he was honest, Dean knew there wouldn't be. All his big brother instincts where on high alert, screaming at him that something was wrong with Sam, to GET. TO. SAM!

He pounded on the door next, at the same times shoving his free hand into his jeans to fish out the cabin door key. "SAMMY!"

As Dean freed the key from his pocket with shaking fingers, he half hoped that Sam would suddenly open the door. Sam would flash him a crooked grin, probably laugh at how freaked out Dean was and there would be some good natured rough housing and everything would be fine.

 _Yeah and in a perfect world, our parents would still be alive and none of this would have ever happened_ , Dean thought bitterly as he shoved the key into the lock.

Stumbling through the doorway, Dean quickly took stock of the scene before him. The fireplace was burned down to embers, the laptop was on the kitchen table, next to it was . . . shit, Dad's journal . . . and Sam was curled in the fetal position in the farthest corner of the kitchen, eyes closed and face ashen.

Dean froze, it was like being in the hospital watching helplessly as the orderlies wrestle with Sam. Then it was like some one hit a fast forward button and he was crashing to his knees besides his brother.

"Sammy?" Dean said it a shaking voice, attempting to keep his cool enough to find his younger brother's pulse. It was there, strong as ever and Sam was breathing evenly, it helped calm Dean slightly. Sam skin was so cold though, how long had he been laying there?

"Sam?" Dean shook his brother, "C'mon Sam, wake up."

When he didn't get a response, not even a twitch or a sound, Dean felt like he was being tossed head first into panic again and back into the night he discovered Sam was bleeding in the Impala. He gathered Sam up in his arms, trying not to be too rough but his fear was making him feel loose and clumsy. Dean smoothed back Sam's hair, looking for a head injury, something to explain why Sam wasn't responding.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean tried again. "Open your eyes . . . _please_ open your eyes, Sammy."

Dean pressed his palm against Sam's cheek, "Sam , _please_ wake up, please. Don't do this to me Sam, please, I need you, _wake up_." He begged.

His body started the rocking motion of it's own accord, much like the night Sam made his confession while Dean cradled him in his arms, only this time, it was Dean who was voicing his desperate anguish.

"C'mon baby boy, please," Tears pooled in his eyes and spilled over as he used a moniker that he hadn't spoken since Sam was three. "Please, please wake up, open your eyes for me, baby, please, Sammy baby, _please wake up_."

When his own tear splashed onto Sam's eyelid, he finally got a reaction by way of scrunched up eyes and a nose wrinkle.

"Sammy?" Dean didn't bother trying to disguise the frantic hope in his voice. "Sammy can you hear me?"

"Mm," Sam stirred slightly in his arms.

"That's it, baby," Dean spoke more quietly, trying to sound more soothing. "C'mon, open your eyes, now, come back to me."

Slowly, very slowly, Sam's eyes fluttered open, they looked hazy and unfocused but the opened all the same.

"D'n?" Sam sounded confused as he squinted up at his older brother.

"Hey," Dean mustered a shaky smile, "welcome back and thanks for the major cardiac arrest."

Sam reached up awkwardly and brushed his fingertips across Dean's cheek before slurring, "Cryin"?"

Dean wiped his face off quickly, "Whatever, man. Are you okay, Sammy? What the hell happened?"

Sam shook his head and Dean took that to mean he didn't know.

Dean sniffed, "It's okay, c'mon, let's get you up off the floor."

"Don't wanna," Sam's eyes closed and he curled in closer to Dean's chest.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean insisted, "let's get you to bed."

Sam nodded then, "Bed."

Dean helped him get to his feet. Sam seemed to have some problems with coordination though. He mumbled something about not being able to feel his legs and again, Dean wondered how long he had been curled up on the floor. Sam tumbled into bed, he had been alternating between wearing jeans and sweats. Dean was glad he'd chosen sweats today so there would be no awkward "trying to get Sam undressed for bed" event. Sam simply rolled over and fell asleep almost immediately. Dean pulled the covers over him then got a glass of water and set it on the little night stand that was on Sam's side of the bed. After smoothing back Sam's hair one more time, he left the room.

Dean sat down heavily at the kitchen table, rubbing his hands over his face. He should have never left. He was an irresponsible, idiot fuck up of a brother. Dean had left Sam alone for hours just to get some money. Now look what happened. Hell, he didn't even know what happened aside from his baby brother possibly freezing to death on the kitchen floor.

Dean looked at the laptop and moved the cursor to shut off the screen saver so he could take a look at what Sam had been doing. Nothing was open on the desktop though so he just closed the computer back up, shoving it further up the table. Dean glanced at the open notebook next to the laptop. Their father's journal, Dean had purposely tried to hide it earlier because he didn't want Sam to find it, find those names. Yet, here it was, open to the exact page that Dean had been trying to hide from Sam. He was such a fucking idiot! What the hell had he been thinking? Sam had as much right to the journal as he did, he looked at it, well, not as much as Dean did but he read through it frequently enough.

With a growl, Dean swept his arm across the table causing the journal to go crashing to the floor several feet away.

" _Fuuuuuuck!_ " Dean moaned in frustration, hands over his eyes.

After a few minutes of trying to calm down somewhat unsuccessfully, Dean yanked off his boots and his jacket and headed back to the bedroom. He climbed into bed with his brother, facing him and getting as close as he could without touching him. Sam looked so peaceful and untroubled at the moment. God, he looked so young, it was hard to believe he wasn't even a teenager anymore. At times like this, Dean could almost catch a glimpse of that apple cheeked baby brother that would hide behind him ( _not_ their father's leg like most children) around strangers, gripping the back of his shirt, thumb firmly in his mouth. Dean reached out and gently combed back Sam's hair with is fingers.

"I'm sorry, baby boy," Dean whispered, eyes filling with tears. "I'm so sorry, this is all my fault. I never should have left you, Sammy, I'm sorry."

Dean continued to murmur apologies to his brother, removing his hand from Sam's hair and grasping Sam's hand instead. He had dozed off to sleep when he was woken by Sam's sleepy murmur.

"Dee?"

Dean snapped back awake and brushed back Sam's hair again, "Right here, Sammy. I'm right here."

Sam blinked at him, the light from the kitchen and living room being enough to see him in the darkness.

"Dean? What happened?" Sam sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"I dunno, Sam." Dean sat up and faced him, "I got back and I found you . . ."

"Found me?" Sam looked at him apprehensively.

Dean looked down at his lap and answered hesitantly, "On the kitchen floor, Sammy."

Sam frowned in confusion, "On the floor?"

Dean nodded, a long moment of silence followed. Dean looked up when he heard Sam's sharp intake of breath. His brother hastily got out of bed and headed out the door. Alarmed, Dean went after him.

Sam was already standing where the journal hand landed, holding it in his hands, "Tavian, Darian, Julian . . . Tavian, Darian, Julian . . . Tavian, Darian, Julian . . . Tavian, Darian, Julian . . ."

Sam kept repeating the names staring at the journal, his whole body shaking. Dean approached him slowly like he would a wounded animal.

"Sammy?" Dean said quietly.

"Y-you wrote these, D-Dean." Sam stated still looking at the journal.

Dean nodded slowly, even though it wasn't a question, "Yeah, I did."

Sam looked up then, his eyes full of unshed tears, his body still shaking, "How do you know them, Dean? Where did you hear these names?"

Dean held his hands out in front of him, still trying to approach his brother slowly, "Sam . . ."

" _Where did you hear them?_ " Sam hissed, gripping the journal tightly.

Dean stopped and swallowed the painful lump in his throat, "From you, Sammy. You . . . you started saying them when you were sick one day, you were asleep."

Sam dropped the notebook, his hands coming up to cover his mouth. He was paper white, his eyes wide and fearful, he started to pace between the door and the table. Dean took a tentative step forward. Sam stopped and held up one hand, palm towards Dean shaking his head.

"What else did I say, Dean?" Sam asked his a wavering, desperate voice. "What did I say when was sick?"

Dean clenched his fist and eyes shut before opening his eyes again. He had known that he would have to tell Sam sooner or later. Dean mentally cursed himself that he hadn't done it before, when Sam was calm, when Sam didn't look like he was in danger of falling apart in front of him.

" _Dean, tell me!_ " Sam demanded, the tears standing in his eyes spilling over.

"Y - you . . . you said you were afraid of the dark." Dean said with a shrug, trying to make it sound as innocent as possible, as though what he was going to say next wasn't going to be devastating for his brother. He tried to speak but his voice failed him.

"What else?" Sam whispered.

"That you . . ." Dean gritted his teeth, looking everywhere but Sam. He couldn't do it, he couldn't say it, it was going to hurt Sam, he couldn't hurt his baby brother like that.

" _Dean!_ "

"That you came." Dean blurted, "That they made you come."

Dean didn't think it was possible for Sam to get any more white but Sam seemed to pale before him. He stopped shaking abruptly and just stood stalk - still and stared at Dean, his breathing fast and shallow.

"Sammy," Dean said cautiously, "listen to me, it wasn't your fault."

"Oh . . ." Sam started to tremble again, "oh, oh, oh, oh, oh God, oh God, oh God."

He dropped like a stone hitting the floor with a thud. Sam sat drawing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them resting his forehead on his knees.

He started to rock all the while sobbing, "No, no, no, oh God, oh God, please, oh God, no, no, no, nooooo."

Dean rushed to his brother's side, "Sammy, Sammy, c'mon, it's okay, you're okay, it's not your fault, Sam, it's not your fault."

He reached out and touched Sam's arm. Sam sucked in a breath and scrambled backwards away from Dean.

"Don't touch me, oh God, don't touch me!" Sam used the wall to push himself up so he was standing again.

"Sam, please," Dean stood as well, holding his palms out again, "calm down, please just calm down."

Sam shook his head frantically, "No, no, no, I can't, I can't, I don't, oh God, Dean, why didn't you tell me me? _Why?_ "

Dean moved towards him and Sam flinched and started to back away circling away from Dean and back towards the bedroom.

"No, no, no, don't, don't touch me, don't, I can't, don't, just stay away, Dean. Please just, just stay away."

Dean kept his body turned towards Sam but didn't try t approach him again, "Sammy, please, listen to me okay? Don't do this."

Sam kept shaking his head, he was in the bedroom doorway, "I can't, I can't do this, please, just go, just - just _go_ , I can't."

Sam backed into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Dean rushed up to the door and hesitated, he could open the door, there was no lock, but he could hear Sam muffled sobbing from within.

"Sam?" Dean put his hands on the door, "Sammy please, please talk to me."

There was no response, just the hushed sound of Sam's torment. Dean turned, leaned against the door and slid to the floor. He could feel his heart breaking, he propped his arms on his raised knees and rested his head against the door as tears silently slid down his cheeks.

***S*S*S***

Dean woke, his whole body aching. He was still slumped against the bedroom door. He was also freezing, the fire having been out for hours. He didn't even think about lighting a fire or stretching the kinks out of his body, the first and only thought he had was of Sam.

Dean opened the door as quietly and slowly as he could. Sam appeared to be curled up under the covers. Dean could hear his deep, even breathing and assumed he was asleep. Dean crept up beside the bed and looked down at Sam's sleeping form. He wondered how long ago Sam fell asleep, he wondered if Sam had any nightmares and if so how did he get back to sleep afterward without him. He reached out, his hand hovered over Sam. He wanted to touch Sam, to offer comfort, solace, he needed to do something.

_Don't touch me!_

Dean yanked his hand back as though he had been burned as he remembered Sam's words the night before.

_Don't touch me, oh God, don't touch me!_

_Just stay away._

_Just go, just - just **go**._

What had he done? How could he have let this happen? This was all his fault. If he had just told Sam to begin with . . .

Now it was too late. Dean didn't know what kind of state Sam would be in when he woke up. Would they be back to square one or worse? Sam didn't even want Dean to touch him now. Dean had been the one person that was allowed to be close to Sam and now, Sam didn't even want him around. Dean couldn't really blame him. He'd been keeping secrets from Sam again and he'd hated it but that didn't make anything better. As Dean stared at his kid brother, he knew he'd done this. This was his fault, Sam was hurting again and it was all his fault. His fault for keeping things from Sam, his fault for leaving Sam alone, his fault for leaving the journal behind for Sam to find. Dean clenched his fists at his side and silently stalked out of the room.

He shoved his feet into his boots before pulling on his jacket and striding out the door. Dean went directly to the trunk of the Impala and got out the crowbar. He considered getting an axe but some part of common sense penetrated his mind to point out wielding an axe when you're highly emotional isn't a wise choice. You might take off your own leg in the process. So Dean gripped the crowbar in his hand and then headed for the woods.

Another familiar route that Sam and he had traveled. This one had been a longer walk, Sam leading him deeper into the woods. Dean was mostly concerned about being mistaken for deer by hunters. It took nearly forty minutes to reach his destination, a felled tree.

Dean paced in front the tree for a minute and then raised the crowbar in both hands. He brought the bar down on the wood repeatedly, swinging with all his might. He put all of his anger, fear, frustration and heartache behind those blows. Then Dean started to yell with each strike against the tree.

"Fuck - fuck - fucking - fuck! God - damn it - son of a - bitch . . . FUCK!"

With the last exclamation he threw the crowbar down and dropped the the ground, chest heaving.

"I can't do this anymore," Dean moaned, his head in hands. "I can't fucking do it! I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm doing."

Dean broke down into helpless sobs, "I need to help him but I don't know what to do. I keep fucking it up and then every time I turn around there's something else going wrong."

He lifted his head to the sky and shouted, "What the fuck were you thinking, Dad? How could you leave us here, how could leave _me?_ I went and got Sam, I got him so we could be a family again and I fucked his whole life up and for what? For you to leave us? I've been there for him, taken care of him, looked out for him, I spent my life protecting him and I fucked that up too. So now what do I do? What am I supposed to do?"

Dean sat on the forest floor for an indeterminable amount of time, sobbing like he never had in his life. Really, he never had, he'd never broken down so bad that it had come pouring out like it was now. For once in his life he didn't fight it, he had no energy left, he let the helplessness and misery come crashing down and bleed from him.

Afterwards, he sat there for a long while still, trying to calm himself enough to return to the cabin, to Sam. Dean had to get his game face on, had to be strong for Sam's sake. He _could_ do that, he would do anything for Sam, always had, always would. Dean had to get back to cabin and find the shattered remains of his baby brother and see if he could be put back together again.

Eventually, Dean stood, cleaned his face off as well as he could with his shirt, retrieved the crowbar and started back to the cabin. The walk back seemed to take a lot longer but perhaps that was because of the fact that Dean was no longer marching along like a mad man.

When he got back, he put the crowbar back into the trunk and headed inside.

It was unnaturally quiet and Dean felt a twinge of apprehension.

"Sam?" Dean called towards the bedroom where the door was open just a little.

Receiving no answer, he went inside, the bed was empty and more importantly, the bathroom door was open.

Dean hurried over the the bathroom, poking his head inside, "Sammy?"

Sam wasn't there either and Dean's trepidation grew. A quick search of the rest of the cabin (like Sam would be able to hide in a space so small) and even the surrounding grounds confirmed Dean's worst fear.

Sam was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hm, back to back cliffhangers?**   
>  **I think I have just hit a whole new level of cruelty.**


	25. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
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> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I thought about making every chapter a cliffhanger but thought that would be mean. ;)**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Not ten minutes after Dean disappeared into the woods, Sam woke. He still felt tired and miserable on top of that. Kind of cold too, come to think of it. He had grown used to Dean's body heat. When Dean woke up before him, he'd at least start a fire so it wasn't usually too cold when Sam got up, a little chilly in the bedroom perhaps but not this cold. Sam shivered, where was Dean anyway?

Oh.

Right.

Sam had a melt down last night. He could only imagine what Dean was thinking of him. Sam felt pretty pathetic right now.

Finding the names had been the catalyst, naturally. Sam had read somewhere that panic attacks rarely cause fainting spells. Was it any surprise that Sam would be the exception to the rule? He supposed that it was lack of oxygen that caused him to pass out before. Whenever he had an attack he usually forgot to keep breathing.

Discovering that he had told Dean about climaxing during his assault had been overwhelming. Understandably, Dean had only sought to comfort him but Sam had . . . oh God, Sam had pushed him away, had told him to stay away from him.

Sam sat up, "Dean?"

He scrambled out of bed and hurried into the empty living room. No fire in the fireplace, his laptop closed on the kitchen table and their father's journal still on the floor where he'd dropped in the night before. A cold sense of dread enveloped Sam as took in the empty silent cabin.

Last night Sam told Dean not to touch him, to go, to leave him. But he didn't mean _this_ , he didn't mean for Dean to actually _leave_ \- leave. He just needed some space for a while, to deal with overpowering emotions running through him. On one hand Sam was furious with Dean from hiding something like this from him. On the other he was mortified at his own confessions.

Sam rushed to the window and looked outside. He felt slightly relieved when he saw the Impala was still there. Dean hadn't've gotten far then. Maybe . . . maybe he went out to the woods to clear his head or something. Sam should just wait there, wait for Dean to come back. _If_ Dean came back. What if he was so upset that he got lost, or hurt?

Sam bit his lip, he didn't want to be alone right now, feeling anxious for Dean's return. Perhaps he should go after him. He felt such a need to explain himself to his brother. He paced the cabin for a few minutes before coming to a decision. Sam got his shoes, a coat and a hat and headed outside. Once he was out he looked around at the surrounding trees. If Dean was out here, which way did he go?

"Dean?" Sam called hoping that he was in earshot. "Dean?"

No answer. With a sigh Sam picked a direction. He couldn't just sit in the cabin and wait, he needed to talk to Dean. He would just do a quick search, he wouldn't be gone long, really. If he had a chance to catch up with Dean, he should take it.

Little did he know he was going in the completely opposite direction as Dean.

Sam wandered the woods for close to and hour, calling out his brother's name. Cursing himself whenever he thought about the night before. How he had acted, no wonder Dean had taken off. Why did he have to lose control like that? The whole panic attack, the paranoia, it made him feel so weak and helpless and he hated it so much. He wanted so badly to just get over what happened but it seemed like every time he started feeling better, he would have another set back. Now that he was thinking about it, he could understand why Dean hadn't told him. After all, Sam's reaction spoke for its self. If he was going to freak out over everything how could Dean ever be honest with him?

Sam came upon a large rock and sat down on it.

This had to stop. Sam had to go back to the cabin and hope that Dean would be there. He couldn't do this, he couldn't be a burden to Dean anymore. It's not like Sam had forgotten the talk they had in the car. How could he forget one of the very few times he could remember Dean letting down his defenses? No, he remembered but it didn't change the fact that Sam was no good to Dean like this. Afraid of the dark, emotionally unstable, uncomfortable around people, random panic attacks. It's like every bit of his father's training had been ripped out of him and left him a shell. This place, these mountains gave him a false security and made him think that he could be okay. He wasn't okay and though he thought he could be again one day, it wasn't going to be any time soon. He couldn't afford to forget that again.

Sam had to talk to Dean, it was time to start figuring out what they were going to do. The cabin wasn't the place for them anymore. Perhaps there was no place for "them" anymore. Though the thought of being separated from his brother right now made Sam physically ill, it might be the best decision, for a little while at least.

Sam got up and started making his way back to the cabin.

***S*S*S***

Dean leaned over the empty fireplace, gripping the mantel and trying to get a hold of himself.

Sam was gone. Sam had disappeared from the cabin and was gone.

Dean was trying to think clearly but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Okay, so the Impala was still here, Sam didn't drive off anywhere. there were no foot prints in the snow going off towards the road into town so Sam hadn't gone that way. The salt lines weren't disturbed and nothing in the cabin was disturbed so Sam had left of his on volition. Which meant that Sam was probably in the woods. In the great big infinite woods that surrounded them.

 _Well, that narrows it down a fuck ton_ , Dean thought sarcastically.

No cell phone service, he couldn't call Sam and Sam couldn't call him. Dean wondered if he could use the GPS on Sam's phone if there was no signal. Of course, he'd have to drive into town to see if he could get online on the laptop. If he drove into town, Sam might come back and find the car gone and assume Dean had left for good and who knows what kind of havoc that would wreak with his brother's state of mind? This situation was looking better and better. The only thing Dean was able to do was beat himself up over his recent actions. He left Sam yesterday and left the journal behind which Sam had found and found the names of his attackers that triggered an attack. (Dean himself was appalled at his behavior upon finding Sam, he was trained to stay calm in most situations but instead, he'd lost it completely.) Once he came to and realized that Dean knew about the names, Dean finally told Sam about his confessions, which he should have told Sam about in the first place, which devastated his little brother. Then Dean left _again_ because he couldn't handle things because he sucked as a big brother and he was helping to destroy Sam piece by piece. He was doing pretty well at that as was evident by Sam's absence.

Awesome.

Dean suddenly remembered what he had said to Sam after that case with Max Miller. Dean told Sam that as long as he was around, nothing bad was going to happen to Sam. Even though Sam's visions and the fact that Sam moved a cabinet with his mind scared the crap out of him because he didn't know what was happening to his little brother, he had meant it. He was going to make sure Sam was safe. After Dad's warning he was going to save Sam if it was the last thing he did. So where the hell did all of that go so horribly wrong?

Dean was completely lost now. What was he going to do? He needed to find Sam and if Sam was out in the woods somewhere . . .

It's not like Dean couldn't track some one but tracking a little brother and not a deer or a monster was a little more difficult, he didn't even know where to start.

He wasn't doing anyone any good right now, he might as well get his sorry ass outside and start looking for clues as to which direction Sam had gone.

As Dean pushed off the mantle however, the cabin door opened, his head whipped towards it. There stood all 6'4" of his baby brother, his expression of concern melting into one of relief.

Dean's own relief surged through him seeing his brother whole and seemingly unharmed and most of all _here_. Though the relief was quickly washed away by a wave of irrational fury.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean yelled, his hands clenching into fist at his sides.

Sam blinked in surprise, his expression shifting into confusion, "Well, Dean I -"

"Do you have any idea what I've been though?" Dean continued advancing on his brother, "What I thought when I came back and you were gone?"

Shrinking against the door frame, Sam's mouth worked silently for a moment before he could force out words, "I - I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't think -"

"That's the problem isn't it?" Dean grabbed Sam's biceps, heedless of how hard his grip might be, "You don't think do you?"

"Dean," Sam's voice was soft and tremulous, "let go."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean continued to rant.

"Please, Dean." Sam tried again, "Let go."

"You can't just run off like that." Dean snarled, giving Sam a little shake. "Not after everything that's happened. You can't just -"

"LET GO OF ME," Sam abruptly shoved Dean away from him, hard.

Dean landed at least two feet away, hitting the hardwood floor ass first. Stunned, he stayed where he was and blinked up at Sam. He'd been so busy treating Sam like a kid that missed his curfew he failed to observe what his actions were doing to his younger brother. He could see now though. Sam's eyes were wide and fearful, his face pale as was usual these days, he was breathing harshly and his trembling body was pressed against the door. Sam skirted around his brother to the bedroom, looking for all the world like he was afraid of Dean.

Dean looked down at his hands, in disbelief.

What had he done?

It took Dean a long time to stand up. He wasn't used to losing control and here he'd done it twice in one day. Three in two days if you counted the night before when he found Sam on the kitchen floor. This was so much worse though. He'd lashed out at Sam, the fear and worry of coming back to the cabin and finding it empty came rushing out in anger towards his younger brother. Really, what did he expect from Sam? He'd woken up to find himself alone, of course Sam went to look for him. Look what happened afterwards, Dean had yelled at him, he'd . . . oh God, he'd grabbed his baby brother, restrained him. That's the _last_ thing Sam needed to have happen.

Dean couldn't face Sam right away, he needed to give himself some time to calm down. Give Sam a little space too. He busied himself making a fire, aware now, of exactly how cold the cabin had become. He picked his father's journal up off the floor and held it for a moment.

"Tell me what to do, Dad." Dean whispered to the notebook, "Tell me what I'm supposed to do now."

The journal remained silent and Dean placed it up on the mantle.

Sam had left the bedroom door open and Dean approached it with trepidation. He saw the huge lump in the blanket and listened for a minute. He could tell by Sam's breathing he wasn't asleep.

"Sam?" Dean stood in the doorway, casting about for something to say, "are you . . . are you hungry?"

 _Smooth_ , Dean thought with a wince. Apologies weren't something he was well versed in, after all.

"Look, Sammy." Dean sighed, "I . . . I'm sorry . . . about before, I . . . I shouldn't have gotten so worked up. I shouldn't have . . . have grabbed you like I did -"

"Dean?" Sam's muffled voice interrupted.

"Yeah Sam?" Dean answered, eager to make amends but fearing that Sam would push him away, not that he could blame Sam.

"C'mere," Sam reached an arm out of the nest of blankets and beckoned him.

Dean drew nearer to the head of the bed slowly, unsure of what to expect. Sam's face peered up him, his eyes red rimmed as though he had been crying again and all Dean could think was that he had caused this, caused his little brother's pain. He looked down at Sam, wanting to offer comfort but not sure it would be welcome.

Sam beckoned him closer still, "C'mon." He said, shuffling over a little and flipping up the blankets so Dean could get into the bed.

Surprised but grateful, Dean slid his jacket off, hanging on the bed post and kicked off his boots before sliding under the covers with Sam, rolling on his side to face him, keeping his distance, of course.

They lay there looking at one another for a while, it seemed like they were both searching each others face for something. Whatever it was, Sam must have found it for he abruptly scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and buried his head in Dean's chest. Stunned, it took a moment before Dean was encircling Sam's shoulders and . . .

_Oh._

It shouldn't feel so good to hold his brother again. It shouldn't feel this good to hold anyone, not for Dean anyway. It had been maybe 24 hours since he last touched Sam (apart from grabbing him in the living room) and it felt like coming home. It felt like hugging his brother after not seeing him for two years when he came to get him at Stanford. Something loosened in Dean's chest, liquid warmth flowed through him and he buried his face in Sam's hair in what he would never admit was a "nuzzle".

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam mumbled into his chest.

Dean pulled back a little, frowning in confusion, "What?"

Sam looked up at him with the familiar guilt in his eyes, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left, I should have just stayed here and waited."

There it was, Sam was once again apologizing for things that weren't even his fault.

Dean shook his head, "No Sammy, you didn't do anything wrong. I shouldn't have acted the way I did."

"I shouldn't have freaked out the way I did last night, I'm sorry." Sam continued.

"Sam, no." Dean shook his head again, "That was my fault, I should have told you everything before."

"Dean," Sam looked at him imploringly, "we need to talk."

Dean cocked an eyebrow, "Unless the definition of talking has changed, I think that's what we're doing now."

With a sigh, Sam eyes slid away from him, "Dean . . . we can't stay here anymore."

"At the cabin?" Dean's brow furrowed.

"It . . . it's not going to work," he looked at Dean again. "Not forever. It's been good, being away from everything but we can't stay here."

Sam broke away from Dean and sat up, scooching back against the headboard and Dean quickly followed suit, hating the lack of contact.

"I've been thinking," Sam started.

"That explains the beads of sweat," Dean interjected, unable to help himself especially after the heavy emotional turmoil they'd endured.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said without heat. "I've been thinking, if we stay here, I'll just end up becoming a shut in or a hermit. I'll get so I'm afraid to even go out on the porch and I don't want to be like that. I need to get used to being around people again. I just have to."

Dean nodded slowly, "Okay . . . yeah, we can leave, we don't have to stay here anymore. I mean, you're physically better now, right? We can get back on the road again, no problem."

Dean didn't particularly like the idea of leaving the sanctuary of the cabin but he understood where his brother was coming from.

Twisting his fingers in his lap, Sam continued, "There's one other thing."

"What's that," Dean asked, narrowing his eyes, he could already tell by Sam's body language and lack of eye contact he was not going to like what he had to say next.

"I think . . ." Sam took a deep breath, "I think it would be best if we . . . if we separated for a while."

Dean's response was immediate, "No, no way Sammy. Not a chance."

Sam splayed out his hands finally looking at his brother, "Dean, hear me out, please."

"Fine," Dean shrugged, "but the answer is still no."

Sam sighed in frustration, "Look, like you said, I'm physically better but I'm still pretty messed up. Dean I'm . . . I'm _broken_ , I don't . . . work right anymore . . . and I don't know how long it's gonna take to fix. If it even _can_ be fixed. I don't know what to do and I don't think I can hunt being like this."

"Look," Dean interjected vehemently, "you don't wanna stay here anymore, fine, we'll leave, go anywhere you wanna go. You can't hunt right now, fine, we don't have to. Let me make one thing very clear to you, though. We. Are not. Splitting. Up. End of discussion."

Looking across at the wall, Sam shook his head, "I just hate feeling like I'm holding you back."

"Hey," Dean grasped Sam's chin to get eye contact, "don't ever feel like that, alright? You're my brother, my family, we're gonna stick together, no matter what."

After a long moment, Sam nodded, "Okay." He didn't sound defeated, just resigned.

Sam slid back down and pulled up the blankets again, "I'm kinda tired, I didn't get much sleep last night."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, okay, I'll uh . . . I'll let you get some rest."

"Hey Dean?" Sam laid a hand on his arm, "I didn't mean what I said last night."

"What do you mean?"

"About . . . not touching me and leaving, all that." Sam shrugged, "I mean, I meant it but not the way you think. I just needed some space y'know? And I didn't like the thought of you touching me when I felt so . . . so . . ." Sam struggled for a minute, " . . . tainted. It wasn't about you -"

"It's okay, Sam." Dean reassured him. "I understand."

Dean moved to get out of the bed but Sam held on to his wrist, Dean looked at him questioningly.

"Stay with me?" Sam blushed deep crimson and looked away from Dean. "Just for a while?"

Dean smiled slightly and nodded, laying back down. Sam didn't even hesitate to wrap his arms back around Dean. It felt completely natural for Dean to reciprocate. Even though Dean had entertained thoughts of getting back up after Sam fell asleep, the stress of the previous night and the following day, along with the uncomfortable night sleeping against the bedroom door caught up with him and he was asleep within minutes.


	26. On The Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I decided to borrow Crowley's "moose", no reason, just felt like it**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

_This is fine, I've done it hundreds . . . thousands . . . countless times and I can do this. It's no problem . . . I just have to get moving . . . yep . . . just put one foot in front of the other . . . any . . . minute . . . now . . ._

Sam stood stalk still, pressed against the passenger door of the Impala. They had stopped for gas and Sam had volunteered to go inside the little convenience store to pay and grab some road snacks . . . and he was going to . . . soon . . . he just needed to remember how to work his legs first.

"Sammy," Dean's voice interrupted his inner pep talk, "you don't -"

"Yes," Sam interrupted firmly, "I do. I'm fine, I'm just . . . resting a minute."

Dean leaned against the car next to him, "Uh huh. Well, I'll be done gassin' her up in a minute, so whenever you're ready, go right ahead."

"I will," Sam said nodding but still made no attempt to move.

After a couple of minutes slowly ticked by, Dean cleared his throat, "Sometime today would be good, Sammich."

Sam scowled, Dean had never used that particular nickname often and it grated on his nerves every time he did. Inside, he was a little bit grateful. Dean was trying to make this like any other day on the road for him and not a significant step in the road to recovery for Sam. He knew it was probably hard for Dean too, just letting him go in the store, alone. It was part of that whole big brother has to watch out for baby brother because God knows that he can't do it for himself.

That's not really fair to Dean though, he's been beating himself up ever since he found Sam unconscious in the cabin's kitchen. Then for leaving again while Sam was sleeping, causing Sam to go look for him that in turn caused Dean to flip out on him.

They had stayed another week at the cabin. Making sure they used up all the perishable groceries and as much as the firewood they could. It had been a very warm week inside the cabin. Though once the woodpile got significantly low, Dean came in complaining about rats. When Sam went out to get more wood all he found were some very indignant little mice trying to scurry deeper into the pile. Sam felt a little sorry for them, honestly, they were just trying to find shelter in the winter after all, it couldn't be easy being so small. Especially when the hooting at night gave every indication that there were plenty of predators out there waiting to swoop down on you.

Sam shivered involuntarily at the similarities he found between him and the rodents. He wasn't exactly tiny like a mouse but he felt a lot like prey at the moment.

"Y'know Sam, it's probably warmer inside." Dean said with a nudge.

Sam wasn't sure if he misread the shiver or he was just trying to get Sam moving. At any rate, Sam nodded and started forward. How was this so difficult when the day after Sam's rape, he was able to force himself into the two gas stations they stopped at? Shock? Denial? A little of both? Or maybe it was just the overwhelming feeling that he had to hide what happened from Dean that overrode the need to hide from the world.

Why was this so hard to do now? That was easier to answer, Sam had gotten way too comfortable being isolated in the mountains. Out in the open, the feeling of being too exposed was back and it was more difficult than ever.

The electronic chime sounded as Sam walked into the warm interior of the store. There were two other men in the store and the chunky clerk at the counter looked up from her confession magazine. Her expression of annoyance melted into one of intense interest.

 _Not now, please_ , Sam thought.

He'd never been comfortable with an inordinate amount of attention especially from the opposite sex. It was worse when he found some one particularly attractive. Sam had never quite gotten over the feeling of being a skinny, gangly, clumsy, oversized teen, when his feet and legs and arms decided to grow at an alarming rate, leaving him to trip all over himself endlessly, which seemed to happen particularly often in front of cute girls. He would never forget having just turning sixteen and tripping into Cynthia Walters in the hall of the latest school he was in. He'd knocked her over and landed face first in her cleavage. Coincidentally enough, Cynthia happened to be one of the most well endowed girls in school. Everyone, including Cynthia, thought Sam had done it on purpose. Afterwards he'd been subjected to guys leering and doing very unfunny impressions of his boob face plant, girls glaring at him like he was a pervert, and a very humiliating ordeal that involved him, his father, the school counselor and the principle. Sam had never been more grateful for his frequent school changes.

Oh and the fun Dean had with that particular incident in his life.

This was good, if Sam just kept thinking about other things, things from a lifetime ago it wasn't so bad. He didn't have to think about that guy in front of the coolers who just looked at him, or maybe he was staring at him, or checking him out, or possibly -

 _Stop it_ , Sam told himself firmly. _He's not looking at you, he just **glanced** at you that's all. Stop being a friggin' wuss already._

That last part sounded a lot like Dean in his head and Sam had to smile a little. Quickly he got down to business and started to load up on Bing Bongs and Power Bars. Right, Power Bars because that's what he always got . . . not that he had much of an appetite for them these days. He was getting them mostly out of habit.

After grabbing two bottles of water he headed up to the counter, the other guy in the store brushed past him, their arms bumping each other.

"Excuse me," the man mumbled, walking further down the aisle.

Sam froze, his breath catching in his throat and he bit back a whimper.

 _Stop it_ , he told himself firmly. _You're fine, he barely touched you, stop acting like a freak and go up to counter already._

Sam couldn't seem to make his limbs obey his commands. He eyes, squeezed shut and he stood there trying to keep his breathing steady. He wasn't about to have a panic attack but he still really, _really_ hated being touched by anyone who wasn't Dean. Even something as innocent as what had just happened made him feel sick and like he wanted to run but couldn't move. Sam tried to think back to being at the department store with Dean all those weeks ago. There were people there and sometimes, they got a little too close for his comfort. So, how did he deal with it then?

That was easy, Dean was with him. He knew as long as Dean was there, no one could hurt him.

 _Dean's just outside_ , Sam thought, _knowing him, he's watching you right now, so buck the fuck up and act like a man and pay for this stuff and go._

Another few seconds of not moving, Sam told himself, _The faster you pay, the faster you can get out of here and back to the car._

Finally, Sam made himself move up to the counter and he gratefully set down his purchases. The clerk smiled widely at him and Sam felt his stomach clench silently pleading with her to not start a conversation with him.

Apparently, she wasn't listening, "Hi there, how are you doin' today sir?"

"Fine," Sam answered softly, barely moving his lips.

She stared ringing up his items and bagging them, "Never seen you around here before, you new in town?"

"Passing through," he mumbled, shifting his weight from side to side and glancing out the windows, he hoped he looked like he was in a hurry, "pump three, please."

"Oh that's too bad," the clerk went on, sounding excessively sad, "this town could use some fresh meat, if you know what I mean."

Sam cringed, he certainly did know what she meant but after what he'd been through, he didn't like being referred to as "meat". Without waiting for her to tell him the total he took out some bills and placed them on the counter. She smiled sweetly, placed the bag on the counter, and picked up the money, putting in the register and then counting out his change. Sam snagged the bag and held his hand out, hoping that there wouldn't be much physical contact. The clerk wasn't repulsive or anything, he just couldn't stand the thought of being touched by some one who so obviously wanted more that just a handing off of cash.

She was holding his change but made no move to give it to him yet, "Y'know, there's a sweet little motel just a couple of miles down the road, maybe you could stop off for bit, I could keep you company if you'd like. It can get awful lonely on the road."

Sam swallowed heavily, he felt like he was going to throw up in a minute. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea. If he puked all over the counter, certainly the clerk wouldn't find him nearly so desirable.

"I - I - I really, need to get back on the road," Sam forced out. "Thank you, anyway."

She looked like she was going to say something else but the door to the store opened and Dean strode in.

"Geez Sammy, y'gonna spend all day in here or what?" Dean sauntered up to the counter and practically snatched the change from the startled clerk, then gave her a wink. "Thanks sweetheart."

Dean turned to Sam with an expectant look, "Well, c'mon then moose, let's get a move on."

Sam following him mutely to the Impala, not sparing a backwards glance. Sliding into the passenger seat, he handed the bag to Dean.

"Thank you," Sam muttered.

Dean started snickering, "Dude, she looked like she was gonna eat you alive."

Sam grimaced, wrapping his arms around himself tightly, "I have never been so uncomfortable in my life."

"I dunno," Dean shrugged, setting the bag down after retrieving one of the chocolate snack cakes, "the itching powder in the underwear made you pretty uncomfortable."

Sam gave his brother a half-hearted glare, "That wasn't funny, Dean."

" _I_ thought it was funny," Dean chortled, starting up the engine and pulling back out on the road.

"Seriously though," Dean said after a few minutes, "you okay? You looked pretty shook up when that guy bumped into you."

So Dean _had_ been watching him and knowing Dean, it was probably for the entire time. It wasn't much of a revelation for Sam, he knew how deep Dean's overprotective streak ran. Sometimes, being as fiercely independent as Sam was, it annoyed him to no end, especially since Sam was an adult. Those times didn't really happen anymore, Sam had an intense need to feel safe and Dean always provided that.

"I'm fine," Sam sighed and shifted his legs so he could slide down in his seat, "it . . . I dunno, it kinda weirded me out for a minute but . . . yeah, I'm okay."

Dean nodded without further comment. Sam turned his head to stare out the window.

He wanted to talk. Dean and him hadn't really talked since that disastrous day a week ago. They hadn't even talked about where they would go, they were pretty much traveling blind. Now that Dean basically knew everything . . . well, certainly not _everything_. He didn't know the horrid details of what happened and Sam didn't feel compelled to tell him. Still, Dean knew everything that Sam had tried to conceal from him and now that he did, Sam wanted to talk about it, to explain a few things to his brother. The only problem was that he found himself pushing Dean out of his comfort zone pretty often. Sam wanted to talk but it could wait, they needed to get back to something that resembled normal . . . normal for them anyway.

***S*S*S***

"Okay," Dean leaned into the car from the open driver's side, "no music, should be good."

"'Kay," Sam kept his gaze straight ahead.

Sam had insisted on stopping somewhere for dinner. Dean didn't know if it was a good idea, he thought Sam should slow down a little when it came to easing back into society. Naturally, Sam just wanted to jump into to things head first. Dean had grudgingly agreed to stop at a diner as long as he went in to check it out, make sure that there wasn't going to be another incident like at the restaurant.

"You're sure you're okay with this?" Dean asked as they stared at the road side diner.

"Uh-huh . . ." Sam responded, his hands white knuckling the seat beneath him.

"Sam?"

"I'm fine," Sam said quickly. "Um . . . but . . . well . . ."

"Keep using that big college vocabulary, Sam." Dean smirked, "It's impressive, seriously."

Sam managed something like a scowl before swallowing hard and saying, "They have a jukebox."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, "Oookay . . ."

With a sigh, Dean slammed the car door and ambled back into the diner. He took a long look at the jukebox before trotting back out to the car. This time, he opened the passenger door.

"No Patsy Cline," Dean assured him.

Sam nodded, "Right . . . let's go."

Before he could change his mind, Sam got out of the car and led the way into the diner. This was a little easier, honestly. He could count on Dean's presence to keep him calmer than he would otherwise feel. He felt the inexplicable urge to reach out and grasp his brother's arm, just to make sure that Dean was there and that he wouldn't leave his side. Though logically, he knew, Dean never would, Dean would always stick by him, no matter what, Dean would never leave him to deal with things alone when Sam needed him.

Great, now Sam wanted to turn and throw his arms around his older brother and give him a bone crushing hug. Maybe even cry a little in gratification that he had such an amazing brother.

Dean was right . . . Sam was nothing but a great big girl.

Once inside the door, Dean took the lead and went straight back to the booth farthest away and Sam slid into the seat facing the door. Dean usually liked that position, liked to keep his back to the corner so he could keep an eye on everything. This was the second time he'd let Sam have that seat and Sam really needed that. He needed to see what was going on around him and he really, really hated anyone behind him.

It was pretty slow in the diner and it wasn't long before a middle-aged waitress was at their table, looking bored and asking for their orders. Dean got his usual burger and fries and Sam got a grilled chicken salad.

"Dude, stop." Dean said a few minutes after the waitress walked away with their orders.

"What? Stop what?" Sam looked across at him with anxious eyes.

"You're fidgeting."

"Well, I'm sorry, Dean." Sam said in a furious whisper, "I'm a little nervous."

"No kidding," Dean said, reaching across the table and putting his hand over Sam's, which were currently twisting themselves into painful positions. "Stop."

Sam put his hands in his lap and tried to concentrate on staying still. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. He was okay, everything was fine. Dean was here with him and he was safe.

Then Dean started to talk and Sam let his voice wash over him. He didn't know what Dean was saying but it was soothing to hear him speak. After that time seemed to speed up, their food arrived in no time. Though Dean seemed to really enjoy his burger Sam ate slowly and methodically, not even tasting anything as he concentrated on chewing each bite of food and forced himself to swallow. He'd had an easier time eating lately but he was too agitated right then to enjoy his meal.

As soon as Dean pushed his empty plate away Sam very nearly scrambled out of his seat, his food not anywhere near finished. "Ready to go?"

Looking a little disappointed, Dean sighed, "I guess so." He pulled some bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the table before trailing after Sam.

Once they were driving again, Sam said, "Sorry."

Dean glanced over at him, "What are you sorry for now, Sammy?"

"Dude, I don't even know anymore," Sam slumped down in his seat. "I just feel so messed up all the time. I get so nervous and tense. It's so . . . frustrating."

Dean shook his head, "Don't worry about it, man. You'll get used to being around people again."

"Yeah?" Sam sighed, "How long is that gonna take? How long will it be until I can function like a human being again? Y'know, right after it happened, I was kind of okay, I mean, I could basically function on some sort of level -"

"You were in shock, Sam." Dean interrupted, "Your brain was on autopilot, you weren't really functioning at all, it was only a matter of time before -"

"Before what?" Sam snapped, "Before I had a nervous breakdown or my first panic attack?" He sighed again before adding, "This is just one more reason why I think we should -"

"No." Dean said flatly.

Sam looked over at him sharply, "You don't even know what I'm gonna say."

Dean pretended to look thoughtful, "Hm, let me guess, something about us splitting up? Not gonna happen. We're sticking together and that's that, end of story."

Sam looked out the window forlornly, "That might be a long time, man." He said softly.

"I'm here for as long as it takes," Dean returned confidently.

A ghost of a smile touched Sam's lips, "I know," the smile faded quickly, "I just hate feeling so useless."

"So make yourself useful," Dean smirked. "Find us a motel for the night."

***S*S*S***

Dean stepped out of the motel bathroom followed by a cloud of steam.

Sam, sitting cross-legged on the bed farthest from the door, glanced up from the laptop, "Did you use all the hot water in the place, Dean?"

"What are you complaining about," Dean dropped the wet towel on Sam's head and ignored the indignant squawk that followed, "not like you were gonna take a shower tonight anyway."

Sam shrugged and Dean flopped down on his bed, turned the television on with the remote and began to channel surf.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam began after a few minutes, "I've been thinkin' . . ."

"Again with the thinking," Dean said, eyed glued to the flickering images. "Careful, Sammy, y'don't wanna overheat that big deal brain of yours."

Sam ignored the jibe and said, "We need to start hunting again."

"You what?" Dean sat up and looked at him incredulously.

"I think we should find a job," Sam said sounding perfectly reasonable and calm.

Dean just stared at him until Sam huffed out an exasperated, " _What?_ "

"What?" Dean threw up his hands, "What? Seriously? Dude, we _just_ got back on the road and, I'm really sorry Sam but it's been hard enough for you to cope with being in public and now you wanna just dive back into hunting? This is after you told me that you're afraid of the dark and you didn't know if you could hunt anymore. Are you high?"

Sam kept his eyes fixed to his laptop, he felt his face heat with shame. He didn't need to be reminded of his new limitations of a hunter, he lived with the knowledge every day.

Dean took a deep breath and said in a softer tone, "I know that you wanna try to get back to the way things were before but you don't need to push it. You need to slow down -"

"I don't wanna slow down!" Sam snapped. "Look, the way I see it is, the only way I'm gonna get any better is if we start doing everything we were doing before all this happened."

"Sam -" Dean started before being immediately cut off again.

"I'm not saying that I'm ready to go take on a werewolf or a pack of ghouls or anything," Sam went on, sounding calmer. "We can start off with something small, something simple. I need to do this."

When his brother looked like he was going to argue again Sam added, "I'll do it with or without you, Dean."

Sam watched as Dean's facial expressions showed the war going on inside his head. Anger, frustration, worry, indignation, exasperation, more frustration because Dean knew that if Sam really wanted to do something, he'd do it. It wasn't like Sam needed Dean's approval.

Finally, looking sullen, Dean muttered, "Fine . . . but I get final say in what we do."

Sam pretended to think it over but then nodded when he saw the muscles in Dean's jaw flex, "I guess that's fair."

Dean lay back again, grumbling to himself and Sam suppressed a chuckle and shut down his laptop.

"I'm gonna get some sleep," he said climbing under the covers and turning off the lamp next to his bed. "G'night, Dean."

Dean grunted in response and Sam smiled and curled up on his side. As he let his eyes close he found himself wondering how well he was going to sleep now that Dean was across the room from him instead of in the same bed.


	27. It's So Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Oh Sam, poor, stupid, stubborn, Sam . . .**  
>  **Actually, shame on me for being so mean.**  
>  **So at the end of this chappy . . .**  
>  ***cough*wincest*cough* JUST A BLIP! Hardly worth mentioning! The non-wincest fans have been warned. (I don't know why people never read the summery or warnings.)**  
>  I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.

Not long after Sam had curled up in his own bed, Dean turned off the television and tried to get some sleep himself. He stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about his incredibly stubborn kid brother. Sam was pushing himself too hard, probably trying to prove himself or something. Maybe even prove something _to_ himself. Dean didn't know if Sam's threat to go on a hunt himself was real, if he'd really go through with it. Sam was barely able to handle gas stations and diners, how was he going to go on a hunt by himself? Knowing Sam though, he'd try it so Dean wasn't about to call him on it.

Dean turned over to his side. Honestly, Sam had handled the convenience store better than the diner. Maybe because he wasn't confined in the store. It could be that while Sam thought he felt safer inside a booth, perhaps it was worse for him. If he had been held in a small space, like this van he talked about, it might be a better idea to get a table in the future. Something against a wall of course.

Honestly, the convenience store was harder for Dean. Sam going in alone was as much as a test for Dean. It was hard to watch Sam walk into that store alone and unprotected. He had almost gone in when that guy had bumped into him simply because Sam had stopped moving so suddenly. Then everything seemed okay, or at least manageable. That is, until Dean caught sight of that clerk, looking at Sam as though she was about to lick him like a lollipop. Poor Sam looked like he was about to vomit, or pass out, maybe both. With images of Little Miss "drop my panties in front of a complete stranger" from the laundromat skittering through his mind, Dean marched in for the rescue mission. Maybe he managed to smile, even call the clerk "sweetheart", could even laugh it off afterwards. But inside? Inside he wanted to wring her chubby little neck for thinking that it was even remotely okay to eye fuck his baby brother like she was. In the past, Dean would probably find it hilarious and rib Sam about it for miles. Now, he just changed the subject.

Dean tossed and turned for an hour. What the hell, he was exhausted, why couldn't he sleep? Rolling over to face Sam he suddenly realized what the problem was. Crap, he was used to sleeping with his brother's abnormally high body heat baking him under the covers. No wonder he felt a little chilly, it wasn't the crappy motel blankets (well, not _just_ ) it was lack of _Sam_.

Rolling onto his back again he stared up at the ceiling once more. Now what? He couldn't just crawl into Sam's bed uninvited. What was he supposed to say? He was cold? He was lonely? Dean snorted softly to himself. Cold he may very well be but lonely? Besides, it might freak Sam out if he suddenly found some one climbing into his bed while he was asleep. Not that it would be very comfortable anyway, a king size mattress was one thing, a queen was another. Sure, Dean could share a queen mattress with the soft, curvy, small body of a female. But his towering younger brother? It only worked if they were pressed together, tip to toe.

. . . Okay . . .

That absolutely should _not_ appeal to him in any way, shape, or form. Furthermore, the heat that was currently spreading through his body was caused by the thought of the soft, curvy female body. Totally.

At that moment, Sam began to whimper and whine in his sleep, struggling slightly with the blankets. Banishing all thoughts other than comforting his brother, Dean immediately crawled out of bed and slid into Sam's, plastering himself to Sam's back. Once he started his usual steady mantra of shushing and telling Sam he was okay and that Dean had him, Sam settled down again.

Dean thought he should get up, he should get back to his own bed. Only, he was so warm now. Though he might have to stay this close to Sam for the rest of the night, he was having a hard time figuring out why that wasn't a good idea.

As he was tugged further into sleep, he felt Sam shifting and then his whisper cut through the fog in Dean's brain.

"Dean?"

"Hm," Dean opened his eyes and found himself staring into Sam's in the dim light from the bathroom they always kept on now.

"Why are you in my bed?" Sam asked, that little wavy line appeared between his eyes and Dean couldn't stop staring at it for a few minutes.

"Oh um," Dean blinked trying to clear his head, "you were having a nightmare so . . ."

"Oh," Sam said simply, his eyes falling closed again.

"You want me to go?" Dean asked, hoping Sam would say no.

Sam shook his head, "Mm-mm," he hummed, his arms sliding around Dean.

Much like that day a week ago, Sam buried his head in Dean's chest, whispering, "Stay."

Dean bent his head, breathing in the scent of Sam's hair, whispering back, "Always, Sammy."

***S*S*S***

It was supposed to be simple.

After vetoing half a dozen leads that Sam picked out, Dean finally agreed to something that sounded like it could either be nothing or a simple salt and burn.

Recent construction on a small house next to the Brewster Apartment complex appeared to have stirred up something. Several bizarre yet not fatal accidents had slowed the construction and Sam's research showed that the Brewster Apartments used to be the Brewster's Institute for Troubled Boys. The house used to be for the groundskeeper. There had been a total of three groundskeepers for the institute and the last one, Gerald Stewart, had been murdered in the house by one of the boys in 1934. The school had been shut down not long afterwards. Several years later it had been converted into apartments.

Dean had conducted a phone interview with the head foreman, then stopped by the site, giving Sam the instructions to stay in the car. It was a brilliant and beautiful Saturday, no construction and no problems getting in. The E.M.F. Meter lit up like a Christmas tree and that was it. All they had to do was burn the remains.

Yep, simple.

Except good ol' Gerry was cremated.

So Dean opted to go in after dark and find whatever it was keeping Gerald's spirit around.

Which led to Sam coming along.

Which led to a twenty-minute argument in the Impala once they were there about Sam staying in the car. Sam stubbornly refused saying that he was perfectly fine going into a dark house with a flashlight and a salt loaded shotgun. Dean tried being reasonable but stupid, stubborn Sam just got out of the car and stomped towards the house on his own and Dean had no choice but to follow him, unless he wanted to find Sam a quivering mess on the floor of the old house. It was a good thing too, since stupid, stubborn Sam took one step over the threshold and stopped. Dean might not have notice that anything was wrong if it wasn't for the beam of the flashlight gave away the trembling in Sam's hands.

Yeah, this hunt was turning out to be one big piece of freakin' cake.

***S*S*S***

Sam was supposed to do something, he was sure of that a minute ago. It was so dark though. Even with the flashlight it was just so . . . dark.

Then Dean was there and that made all the difference. Even though Sam couldn't quite stop his hands from shaking, Dean made him feel calmer, safer. It reminded him that he wasn't in a dark van, it was a dark house and Sam didn't have to be afraid. It was only a spirit and Sam had rock salt to protect himself. This was okay.

"Just sit tight, okay Sammy?" Dean was saying, turning on his own flashlight, "I'm gonna go check things out."

It took a few minutes for Dean's words to penetrate Sam's head. When they finally did, Dean was already halfway across the room. Wait, Dean was leaving him alone? No, he couldn't, Sam didn't want to be alone. Sam forced himself to follow his brother.

As Dean disappeared into a room, Sam called out, "Hey Dean, wait -" the door to the room slammed shut. ". . . up?"

No . . . oh God no, this was not happening, that did _not_ just happen.

Sam approached the door, his dread building, "Dean?"

He heard and saw the vibrations as Dean kicked at the door. Then there was a muttered curse, a few more loud bangs. The door remained stubbornly shut.

"Son of bitch," Dean's muffled voice floated through the door, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

"Dean?" Sam called, his ear pressed to the door, seriously alarmed now.

"Sam, listen, I can't get the door open, I'm gonna go out the window. I'll come around to the front, okay?"'

Sam really hoped that Dean wasn't going to wait for a response because he doubted he could form one at the moment. As soon as his brother fell quiet, Sam could hear every creak, every shudder, every breeze that blew through the house. He swallowed heavily, turning swiftly to face the room he swept the beam of light all around.

"I'm okay," Sam said it a quiet tremulous voice, pressing his back against the door. "I'm fine, it's fine, everything is okay, I'm fine, I'm okay."

He shone his flashlight around he room again, stopping here and there, trying to calm the thundering of his heart. Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a sound by the fireplace, he fixed the beam of light on it. The fireplace was crumbling, many bricks broken and falling away. Sam reassured himself that it was just the sound of the fireplace falling apart . . . no doubt followed by the wall, then the whole building would collapse and where the hell was Dean? This was a bad idea, a horrible idea, what made him think he could do this?

Sam's beam landed on something at the bottom of the fireplace, partly obscured by broken bricks. Something dull white against the red brick at the base. His brow furrowed, his curiosity battling his nerves. He needed to cross the room and take a look. If only his feet weren't glued to the floor.

 _You're a hunter dammit, now act like it_ , Sam told himself angrily.

Squaring his shoulders, Sam marched across the room and kneeled in front of the fireplace. He cleared away the broken bricks and found that the remaining brick in front of the object was loose and pulled away easily. He reached into the opening and pulled out a dusty, cobweb laced cigar box. Sam felt certain that this must be what they were looking for. Flipping open the lid, he took a look inside and found small trinkets that looked like they once belonged to children, scraps of clothe, even a couple of locks of hair. Sam frowned, he didn't really understand the contents, did they belong to Gerald Stewart or to the children from the institute? If they did belong to the children, what were they doing in Gerald's fireplace?

At the bottom of the box, Sam lifted out a stack of photographs and started to look through them. They started innocently enough, institute class photos, a few head shots of what Sam assumed where boys from the institute. A cold feeling started to grow in his gut as the next few photographs were of boys outside the house in warm weather, wearing shorts, spraying eachother with a hose. Then more of boys inside the house, still just in shorts . . . then in nothing at all.

"Oh God," Sam breathed, wanting to vomit.

Seemed that Gerald Stewart kept more than the grounds. Sam could see now why he had been murdered by one of the kids. This box . . . no wonder he was still here, this box had to have his filthy DNA all over it.

It happened so fast and without warning, Sam had no time to react. He was suddenly flipped onto his back, the shotgun and the flashlight flew out of his grasp. A cold force pinned him down.

_So cold, so dark, can't move . . ._

Gerald Stewart materialized on top of him in his dirty pair of overalls, grinning at him maliciously.

"Pretty," he said in a gravelly voice.

_Such a pretty little bitch . . ._

Then Gerald crushed his mouth against Sam's. His skin was icy cold and smelt of dirt, death, and decay.

_Can't move, can't fight, make it stop, it hurts, make it stop . . ._

Sam was dimly aware of a shout and Gerald Stewart ceased his assault as he sat up. There was a shotgun blast and the pressure holding Sam down was gone.

"Sammy?" Dean was bending over him, hand over Sam's heart. "Sam, can you hear me?"

"The box," Sam wheezed, he couldn't quite breathe, "burn the box."

Dean disappeared from Sam's field of vision and Sam rolled over and scrambled to his feet. He was already out the door before he knew it, falling to his knees and emptying the contents of his stomach. He fought the urge not to curl up on his side and he took huge gulps of cold night air, shuddering and shaking.

Then Dean was there, pulling him up and urging him to the car. They were next to an apartment complex, some one must have heard the shot, they had to get away before the cops showed up.

"What the hell happened back there?" Dean asked once they were back in the car and moving again.

Sam was still shivering and he started the shake his head, "Gerald Stewart . . . God Dean, the things he was doing to those kids. He worked there for fifteen years, Dean . . . _fifteen years!_ "

"Just calm down, Sam." Dean said, throwing worried looks in Sam's direction.

Sam kept shaking his head, "He knew he could get away with it. He _knew!_ No one was gonna listen to those kids, no one would believe them." Sam looked frantically at Dean, "Did you burn it? Did you burn the box?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah, Sammy, yeah, I burned it, it's gone."

"Oh God," Sam moaned, "I can still smell him on me, _he's all over me_."

Dean must have been driving sixty because they were already screeching into the parking lot. Sam launched himself out of the car, feeling like he was going to be sick again. He pawed his pockets, trying to get his room key, fighting the impulse to kick the door down. Then he rushed into the bathroom locking the door behind him, tore off his clothes and got into the shower practically forgoing the cold water altogether.

_Dirty, dirty . . . filthy . . . tainted . . . ruined . . ._

Sam stood under the spray of the water. He heard Dean calling his name, pounding on the bathroom door but couldn't bring himself to answer. Sam sunk down into the tub, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around his legs. He sobbed quietly, rocking slightly, feeling utterly hopeless.

He couldn't have a normal life and now he just proved to himself he couldn't even hunt.

What was he going to do now?

***S*S*S***

Not wanting to pay for any damages, Dean resorted to picking the bathroom door lock instead of just kicking it in, which is what he felt like doing. It's exactly what he had threatened to do an hour ago when they'd first gotten back and Sam had gone straight into the bathroom and wouldn't answer him. Then Sam had called out that he wanted to be left alone and Dean had complied. Until an hour later when Sam wasn't answering him again.

Dean found Sam shivering on the floor of the bathtub under the spray of now cold water.

"Geezus Sammy," Dean murmured, leaning in and turning off the shower. "It's freezing, c'mon, let's get you outta here."

Sam allowed Dean to pull him from the tub, none of his previous qualms about being naked in front of Dean seemed to be present. Dean sat Sam on the toilet and grabbed a towel, vigorously drying off his brother, trying to get the blood flowing in Sam's cold skin. He sat complacent, eyes hidden behind his bangs, sniffing occasionally. He looked totally miserable and frightenly like he had after that girl had bumped into him in the laundromat. Dull, lifeless, like he'd given up inside. It scared the crap out of Dean.

Once he'd gotten Sam as dry as he could, he led Sam back out to the main room and deposited him on the bed. Dean grabbed some clothes from Sam's duffel and pressed them into Sam's arms. Sam took them and slowly began to pull them on while Dean went to his own bag and searched the contents. Once he found what he was looking for he went over to the sink and unwrapped one of the complimentary glasses.

Once Sam was dressed, Dean pressed a glass of whiskey into his hands, "Here."

Sam took the glass and knocked back the liquor, making a face as it burned on its way down. He handed the glass back to Dean, then without a word, crawled up the bed and slipped under the covers.

"Sam . . ." Den started.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Sam said tersely.

Dean frowned, "Look, Sammy -"

"Dean," Sam said, an edge of anger in his voice. "I don't. Want. To talk. About it."

Not knowing what to do, Dean reached out and touched Sam's shoulder but his brother moved away from the touch.

"Dean . . . please . . . just . . ." Sam gave a weary sounding sigh. "I want to be alone right now."

Dean shook his head, "I don't think it's a good idea -"

"Dean!" Sam said forcefully, "I want to be left alone."

"Sammy, I'm not -" Dean began.

Sam sat up, fixing his brother with a hard look, "Go away, Dean!" He shouted, "I'm not a kid, okay? Would you fucking stop treating me like one? If I want to freeze to fucking death in the shower then I will. I don't need you to come and dry me off and get me dressed. I'm a fucking adult, I want to be alone, either you leave or I will!"

Dean's spine stiffened and without a word, turned on his heel and walked out. He had to otherwise he'd just end up yelling at Sam and he didn't want to do that, not with what Sam had just been through.

He used every ounce of his willpower not to slam the door behind him.

Dean sat in the Impala afterwards, fuming. He knew hunting was a stupid idea, he knew that Sam wasn't ready for this. Of course, it was Dean's fault that this happened. First, he agreed to go hunting again and then he was the one who finally said yes this particular job. So maybe he didn't know that Gerald Stewart was a perverted pedophile but Dean should have never taken any job to begin with. He'd never know if it would have been okay if Sam hadn't basically been molested by Gerald.

Dean had been pissed about the door, he knew instinctively that it had most likely been to separate him from Sam. He was so stupid, he should have handcuffed Sam to the freakin' car or something. When he'd finally got around to the front door again Gerald was already on top of his brother. Dean had never wanted something to be corporeal so much in his life, just to have the pleasure of bashing Gerald Stewart's face in. Shooting him had not nearly been as satisfying. Neither had been burning his little box of trophies in the fireplace.

Now Sam was pissed at him for just trying to help. What did his little brother expect? Dean was essentially hardwired to protect and take care of Sam. Though in the last few months he kept screwing that up at every opportunity. He stared hard at the motel room, there was no way he was going to leave Sam completely alone. If Sam wanted to be by himself for a while, fine. Just so long as Dean could keep an eye on things. Dean sat and waited in the car feeling for all the world like he was on a stake out.

After a while, Dean got hungry and a loath as he was to move from his spot in the car, he decided to go across the street to the 24 hour cafe. He kept throwing looks back over to the motel, once inside he sat where he could keep the motel room in his sites. After a burger and a slice of apple pie, Dean got a salad to go and went back to the motel deciding that Sam had gotten enough alone time.

Dean opened the door cautiously, not knowing how Sam would react to him. His brother was sitting on the end of his bed with his back to the door.

"Sam?" Dean called, "Y'hungry?"

Dean turned and set the bag of take out on the table and was suddenly embraced from behind.

"Dean!" Sam voice was muffled against Dean's shoulder. "M'sorry I yelled at you . . . I dinn't mean it . . ."

With some difficultly, Dean turned and put his hands on Sam's shoulders, pushing him away enough to get a look at him. Sam gave him a sloppy, sheepish smile, the smell of whiskey heavy in the air.

Dean rolled his eyes, "You're drunk."

Sam's smile widened, "You're sexy."

"You're _really_ drunk," Dean snorted.

Sam giggled (seriously, _only_ Sam would actually _giggle_ ) and stepped away, plopping heavily on the bed, "Mmmmm'yep. N'you're _really_ short."

Dean sighed as Sam dissolved into a fit of giggles. At last, something he knew how to deal with. Dean was the one that got Sam drunk for the first time when Sam was fifteen. Not his smartest move and Dad would have killed him if he'd have found out. Dean learned that night that a drunk Sam was almost always a happy Sam. Though a drunk Sam lead to the hangover from hell Sam but at least for the moment, Sam was smiling. His smile was loose and sloppy but it was a smile all the same.

Dean spotted the empty bottle of whiskey on the bed and picked it up, "Did you have to drink all of it?"

"Pfft," Sam waved his hand dismissively, "there wasn't that much in there anyway."

"There was half a bottle," Dean told him. "You don't even like whiskey."

"Mmm . . . nooooo," Sam agreed, "but I feel soooooo much better now."

Dean couldn't help the smirk that formed, "I bet you do."

Sam giggled again, flopping back on the bed, "I feel soooooo goooooood. I haven't felt this good in _months_." He rolled over and fell face first on the floor which caused another bout of giggling.

Dean stepped over his brother's long legs and threw away the whiskey bottle in the small trash can in the corner, then brought the basket over to the side of Sam's bed just in case Sam couldn't make it to the bathroom in time the next morning.

"Okay lightweight, you're done for the night," He bent and pulled Sam up to his knees. "C'mon it's bedtime, Sasquatch."

"Yer so bossy," Sam complained as Dean pulled him to his feet.

"Yeah, well, I'm older, it's my birthright," Dean informed him as he practically pushed Sam onto the bed.

After Sam manage to figure out how the blanket worked, he grabbed Dean's wrist before he could move away.

"Stay with me? Just until I fall asleep at least?" He asked, unleashing the puppy eyes full force.

Dean rolled his eyes but pulled of his jacket and shoes and climbed into bed next to his brother.

"Why do I even bother getting two beds anymore?" Dean mussed as Sam latched onto him instantly, wrapping is arms around his big brother as though he might try to slip away.

Ever since getting back on the road, even though Dean always got a double room, they always were together by the morning. Oh, they started out in their own bed when the went to sleep but then Dean would be wakened by one of Sam's nightmares or, more often, Dean would just wake up and find his brother snugged up against him . . . not that Dean really minded. It was becoming incredibly commonplace.

"You were right Dean," Sam mumbled into his chest, "hunting was a bad idea. I was so stupid to think I could still do it."

Dean shook his head, "No, Sammy, it's my fault -"

"Stop," Sam looked at him pleadingly, "you always do that, stop it."

"Do what?" Dean asked in confusion.

"Blame yourself," Sam frowned. "you always do that, it's not your fault, nothing that's happened is because of you."

Dean wanted to counter Sam but knew that arguing with a drunk Sam wasn't going to do any good. Sam was complacent and calm right now so Dean went along with it.

"Okay Sammy," Dean agreed.

Sam sighed and settled comfortably against Dean, resting his head against Dean's shoulder. Dean wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulder, his fingers brushing an up and down movement started at the base of Sam's neck to between his shoulders. It was an awfully intimate pose and Dean didn't think about it too much. He had grown used to his brother clinging to him nightly. It was a familiar feeling, a bonding experience from childhood when all they had was each other, sharing the same bed where Sammy would burrow into Dean's warmth seeking comfort.

After a while Sam spoke softly, "M'sorry I didn't tell you when it happened."

Dean pulled back a bit to look at him. Sam looked pensive and a little sad, maybe even a bit confused.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, though he could easily guess what Sam was talking about.

"M'sorry that I didn't tell you when I was . . ." Sam made a face before continuing, "when I got raped. I . . . I didn't want you to know, I was so scared and I was . . . ashamed."

"Sammy," Dean said on a sigh, "you have nothing to be ashamed of, it wasn't your fault."

"I just, I didn't want you to think - to know how stupid I was, to let that happen." Sam looked at him tearfully. "I didn't want you to know how weak I was, that I couldn't defend myself. I was afraid that if I told you, you would know how weak and stupid I was, you would be disgusted by me, I was afraid you would hate me."

"Ssshh, sshh, no Sam, I'd never think that." Dean soothed him, the tone of Sam's voice, small and broken, like a child, breaking his heart a little.

"I'm not weak," Sam insisted suddenly, "M'not . . . am I?"

Dean shook his head, "Of course not, Sammy."

Sam smiled brilliantly then, "I love you, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean snorted.

"I do," Sam said firmly. "Do you love me?"

Dean felt his face heat in a uncharacteristic blush, "Sam . . ."

"Do you love me, Dean?" Sam asked again.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said uncomfortably, "you know I do."

"You never say it," Sam pouted, "just say it, tell me just once, please?"

Sam used the puppy eyes again and Dean's resistance crumbled.

"I love you, Sammy," Dean told him with a put upon sigh.

Sam gifted him another brilliant smile, "Thank you, Dean."

Sam extracted his arm from under Dean and cupped the back of Dean's skull. Sam leaned up, using Dean as leverage and pressed his lips against his brother's for the briefest of moments before pulling back. Then he stretched up again, bringing their lips together in a firm and lingering kiss.

Upon the first kiss, Dean's eyes had widened in surprise but on the second, they slid closed and before he was fully aware, he was kissing Sam back, savoring the feeling of skin to skin contact and the scent of whiskey and Sam all around him.

Sam pulled away again with a satisfied sigh, letting his head drop to Dean's shoulder as he fell almost instantly asleep.

Dean stared down at him, one thought echoing in his mind . . .

_What the fuck just happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The haunting part was inspired by a "true" account of a haunting of a house next to what used to be a boy's school. The young man rented the house that belonged to the groundskeeper back in the day next to apartments that used to be a boys school. One night he was pushed down on his couch and forcefully kissed by what he called a distinctly male presence. He drew his own conclusions about what must have occurred years ago on the property.**


	28. Guilt Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
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> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kinda short chappy this time, sorry.**   
>  **Okay, so last chappy I was really frustrated with Dean because he was feeling a ton of guilt over what happened with the hunt. I mean he was basically blaming himself because a ghost tried to molest Sam, I mean' c'mon! This chappy, even more frustrated with Dean, of course he wasn't going to just be okay kissing Sam, why would he be? Stupid, self-castigating idiot that he is.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

_Shit, shit, fuck, shit, what did I just DO?_

Dean sat frozen next to his brother on the motel bed. Sam was currently sleeping off half a bottle of whiskey while clinging to Dean. Dean was currently allowing Sam to cling to him while internally freaking the fuck out because Sam had kissed him. Not just any kiss either, oh no, you write off any kiss especially from some one as inebriated as Sam. This was a firm, long with romantic inclinations kiss. Though even that, even his kid brother kissing him in an amorous way wouldn't have been terrible, Sam was so intoxicated after all and hell, Dean knew he was a good-looking guy.

But then Dean had to go and kiss him back.

Dean was completely sober. He had no excuse to kiss Sam. He should _not_ have let it happen. Okay, the first kiss took him by surprise, he wasn't expecting that. With all the "I love you"s and Sam's rambling confessions of not wanting Dean to hate him and think he was weak for his inability to fight his attackers off, Dean was a little distracted. Plus it was just a little kiss, so feather light and soft, short and sweet (no, not sweet, stop thinking like that), it was nothing.

It was the second kiss Dean should have stopped. It was long enough to convey a deeper feeling behind it. The only problem was, it was the second kiss that Dean responded to.

Even that could easily be explained away if it needed to be. At this point Dean hadn't gotten laid in months, no sex, not even a kiss, hell he had barely even flirted. The closest he got to having anything was with his right hand in the shower. It's not like he had even minded it so much, Sam was his priority and he was okay with that. Whatever it took to help Sam get through this, that was what mattered.

What couldn't be explained away and what was plaguing Dean's thoughts is that he saw this coming. He saw it coming for months, since before Sam was even attacked. His feelings for Sam had been changing, turning, becoming something twisted, something very unbrotherly. Twinges of jealously, the faint arousal from simple things like the quality of Sam's voice, seeing him flushed, the feeling of Sam squirming under him in the snow. Dean tried to ignore what was becoming more and more obvious as time passed. He was a sick, perverted individual and he wanted Sam in the worst way. Dean was lusting after his little brother.

That's when the full realization came to him, hit him like a Mack truck. Dean may have been living in denial but that meant there was something to deny to begin with. Something that Dean was well aware of, just wouldn't admit to until now. So what had really happened here was . . . oh God . . .

Dean had taken advantage of his baby brother.

That was low, even for him. Dean had slept with plenty of drunk women in the past. However, he never, not ever took advantage of them. They had to be in their right mind when they agreed to have sex with him. Being a hunter, there are so many rules and laws that you bend and break. Dean always tried to hold on to the very few scruples he had. He wasn't the best guy in the world, he knew that, he never promised forever to the women he bedded. Dean always made sure they knew that it was just this one time thing. Sometimes, they both might be a little drunk but Dean was never so far gone to take someone to bed who really didn't want to have sex, never some one who was so intoxicated they didn't fully know or understand what was going on, never some one who wasn't interested in him before getting even more inebriated. It helped him keep his sanity and kept him separated from the "them" of the world.

Oh but this, _this_ was so much worse. It was his _brother_. His trusting, traumatized, sensitive, drunk off his ass baby brother. His brother, his Sammy was all that he saw as good and right in the world. Sam had become somewhat of his moral compass on the road. After all, the kid didn't even feel right about Dean reading a dead girl's diary. Dean suddenly felt as though he just corrupted the one pure thing in his life.

Dean eased himself away from Sam who was so deeply asleep now he thankfully didn't tighten his hold. Dropping down on his own bed, Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and stared at Sam. He felt utterly disgusted with himself. How could he let this happen? What the hell was wrong with him? He took a deep breath.

 _Calm the fuck down_ , the thought.

It wasn't going to help anything if Dean kept freaking out all the time. Alright, this was bad, he'd done possibly the worse thing to Sam he'd ever done in his life. Still, Sam might not even remember it in the morning.

Oh . . . but Dean would remember. He would remember everything. The smell of whiskey, the press of Sam's lips against his, his huge hand cupping the back of Dean's head. The feeling of Sam holding onto him as though his life depended on it, Dean holding him as though he was fragile and breakable.

Broken, that's what Sam said he was, broken.

So now, Dean had to wait and see if what he had done had just shattered Sam completely.

***S*S*S***

Dean woke up to the sound of retching. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, not aware of when he had fallen asleep. He was still fully dressed. He had been trying to stay awake because he needed to make sure that Sam stayed in his own bed (which was empty now). He needed to do that because . . . because . . . oh fuck, the kiss. Dean groaned and fell back again, wanting nothing more than to ignore the dawning of a new day. The retching sound happened again and pulled him back to where he was.

"Sammy?" Dean croaked, stumbling out of bed and headed towards the bathroom.

There was an answering groan and Dean paused at the entrance just as Sam flushed. Dean was grateful for that, Sam's hangover puke was always the most rancid smelling thing, right up there with rotting corpses.

Forcing a smirk to his lips Dean said, "How ya feelin', Sammy?"

Sam was kneeling in front of the toilet, practically hugging the bowl, his forehead pressed against the seat. At the sound of Dean's voice he squinted in Dean's direction.

"Dean?" He rasped out, "I need you to do me a favor. Could you just . . . just shoot me?"

"Aw c'mon, Sam." Dean smiled, "Can't be as bad as all that. Tell you what, why don't I run to the diner across the street, I'll get you some nice runny eggs and some extra greasy bacon -"

He was cut off and Sam hurled into the toilet again. Dean felt slightly bad . . . slightly.

"You suck," Sam moaned, "I hate you."

"Yeah," Dean agreed still smiling, "I know. You owe me a new bottle of whiskey by the way."

The smell hit Dean then and he backed away a few paces. It never ceased to amaze him how Sam got drunk so easily. At his weight and height and the fact that he ran so hot, he should burn right through alcohol and drink anyone under the table. But Sam, being Sam would start slurring after just a few beers. If he didn't stop after that, then you'd have a very sick Sasquatch on your hands in the morning.

Sam flushed again, struggled to his feet and wobbled over to the sink to brush his teeth. From the smell Dean couldn't blame him.

Turning away and walking back into the main room, Dean called over the running water, heart in his throat, "Bet you don't even remember what happened last night do you?"

After a couple of silent minutes, Sam came out of the bathroom and threw himself onto his bed.

"I remember I yelled at you," Sam mumbled into his pillow, looking at Dean through one eye. "Sorry."

Dean shrugged, feeling a little relieved and for some reason a tiny, tiny bit disappointed. "You had a rough night."

Sam nodded, closing his eye with a sigh, "Yeah . . . the rest of the night is a kinda blur. Anyway, it'll be better next time."

Dean started to nod then what Sam said sunk in.

_Wait . . . what?_

"Next time?" Dean asked.

"Next hunt," Sam clarified with a yawn. "It'll go better next hunt."

"Next hunt?" Dean asked, "Next hunt when? Next week, next month, next year? When are you thinking you're gonna be up for another hunt?"

Sam turned his head away from him and shrugged, "Dunno, soon as we can find another job, I guess."

Dean gapped at Sam, honest to goodness gapped. Sam couldn't be serious. After what just happened last night it was a miracle that he wasn't curled up in a corner, rocking and mumbling to himself.

"Dude, are you still drunk?" Dean shouted.

Sam shoulders hunched up, "Dean," he groaned, "if you're gonna argue about this could it wait until after I don't feel like my stomach has been turned inside out? I swear my head's gonna explode, can we stay here and check out tomorrow? Then we can yell about this all we want, just not now, okay?"

Dean sat on his bed, seething. Really? Sam was back on this, he actually thought that hunting was going to be a good idea after what just happened? Seriously?

"Sam," Dean started before he was cut off by a snore.

Dean was tempted to wake Sam up and have this out right now. As it was though, he was pretty tired himself, he stretched out on his bed, trusting that Sam would stay in his own bed. Although he was mostly relieved that Sam didn't remember kissing him the night before, Dean was still conflicted. Just because his brother didn't remember didn't make what Dean had done right, or even a little okay. He hated the thought of keeping this from Sam, too. He should come clean and tell Sam what happened.

Honestly, Dean was being selfish, he knew that. After all, if Sam knew what happened, he'd not just want them to split up but he'd want to leave. Sam would probably never want to speak to him again. Dean wouldn't be able to argue against it this time. Sam wanting to leave because he thought he was a burden was one thing, leaving because he didn't want his big brother molesting him was another.

Dean felt a sharp pain in his stomach and rolled to his side, curling in on himself. He could actually lose Sam forever because of this.

What the hell was he going to do?


	29. The Curtain Will Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Really super excited about this chappy. It was a tough write and I'll be really super nervous to hear what you guys think. I've never wanted to be a better artist in all my life because all I keep seeing is sleepy Sam curled around some pillows, so clear in my mind, so freaking ADORABLE. I hope you guys like this one!**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

The next time Dean woke up, it was in a much more pleasant way. There was no jerking awake to the sound of vomiting. Just the steady, slow wakefulness creeping up, like floating up to the surface of a very warm pool. He was warm and comfortable and felt very content. The solid weight next to him was familiar and reassuring and . . .

Oh crap.

Not again.

Dean's eyes snapped open, he knew without looking, that Sam was next to him again. Dean _had_ been past freaking out or being disconcerted about his brother's presence in his bed. Now though, what with the kissing incident, it was coming back, full force.

At least there was the small favor that they were facing away from each other, backs pressed together. So at least Dean wasn't going to have to struggle out of Sam's grasp. He tried to banish the odd feeling of disappointment at the thought without much success. Dean slid from the bed easily. He needed a shower, he was grimy from the hunt the previous night. Before he got to the bathroom though, he did something he'd never done before. He grabbed his duffel bag and brought it with him. Then he closed and locked the door behind him.

Once he was under the hot spray of water it was incredibly hard not to slam his head into the tile wall. Dean was so fucked . . . and not the good kind. Naturally, thinking about it just brought up thoughts of Sam . . . of course it did. He wanted to, with his little brother, the baby brother he had sworn to protect with his life. So how was he going to protect Sam when Dean was the one putting him in danger?

Dean thought back on the kiss, allowed himself to linger on the memory, maybe it wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. Maybe it was more innocent than insidious.

If the nearly instant hard on caused by his mind's replay, the kiss was anything but innocent. Funny, he didn't remember being turned on by the kiss before. Perhaps he had been in shock? Dean tried to will his erection away but it wasn't listening to him so it was either switch the water to cold or take care of it with his trusty right hand. When he went for the second option it turned out to be a bad decision because as much as he tried to think of some gorgeous Playboy model or his trusted busty Asians, Sam kept emerging in his mind. His happy, smiling, beautiful brother who trusted him and looked at Dean for protection from the haunting memories that threatened to overwhelm him. Even though Dean thought he should really try the cold shower method, before he could, he was already climaxing biting back the moan that threaten to escape in case it was actually Sam's name.

Dean allowed his head to fall against the tiled wall with a thump. He was so totally, royally fucked.  


Once he finished his shower, he dressed quickly and grabbed up his duffel as he exited the bathroom. He saw Sam was sitting up in the bed now, he still looked a little hung over. After a moment's consideration, he slammed the bathroom door shut, hard. Sam winced with a groan. Dean chuckled, at least it was good to know that he still enjoyed annoying his kid brother just like any older brother would. Maybe he could salvage this thing after all.

"Feeling better, Sammy?" Dean asked more loudly than necessary.

"Slightly," Sam answered with a grimace. "My head is still killing me. Do we have any morphine?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Don't be such a drama queen, Samantha. You just have a little headache."

Sam managed to shoot him a dark look before getting up and staggering across to his bed and retrieving his duffel bag on the other side. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out a very crumpled white paper bag with a look of triumph. It was the bag he got from the hospital. Even though he had taken the pain medication they had given them at first, after the pain became at least manageable, he stopped since they made him feel fuzzy and he was almost certain they contributed to his exhaustion. They were very good for pain though.

After retrieving a half filled water bottle from the same duffel, he pulled out the little prescription bottle and shook out two pills into his palm and downed them immediately, then settle back on his bed with a sigh.

Dean felt like he wanted to stab his libido in the throat . . . or something (Did libidos have throats?). The mere sight of Sam sprawled across his bed and the contented sounding sigh coming from him had warmth spreading through Dean's stomach and heading decidedly south.

 _No, no, no, no,_ Dean thought frantically. _I can still fix this, we are brothers and I can fix it._

Dean sat abruptly on the bed, his duffel sitting on his lap, just in case he needed the covering. It was odd, in all this time he never even thought of the fact that they were brothers. He thought about the fact that Sam was his _baby_ brother and he shouldn't want to do anything because Dean was his _big_ brother and supposed to protect Sam against lecherous people like, well, like himself. The fact that they were blood, shockingly didn't faze him in the least. When thinking about the lust he had for Sam, the sibling connection didn't seem to matter at all, it didn't bother him. Which only served to remind him that he was a sick, depraved, abomination that should go off himself because Sam was definitely not safe being anywhere near him.

Setting his duffel at his feet, Dean propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

"You okay?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked over and saw Sam looking at him with those damned puppy dog, concerned eyes. Dean wanted to shout at him, tell Sam not to be worried about him because Sam should really be worried about being _around_ him.

Instead, he nodded, "Fine," he got up and headed for the door, "I'm gonna get some food from the diner. I'm getting you something too so don't even tell me you're not hungry. Just tell me if you want something specific."

Sam grimaced at the mention of food but shrugged, "No onions." He closed his eyes again.

Dean went across the street and went with his standard burger and fries and got a chicken sandwich for Sam, figuring beef would be a bad idea. On his way back to the room, he noticed the sun was pretty low in the sky. He had already paid for a week at this motel which he hadn't mentioned to Sam, not knowing how long the hunt would take. It took three days, three days for everything to fall completely apart once again. It had to be some sort of record, it usually only took a few hours or less.

It had been nine weeks now. Nine weeks and Dean was still swimming in a lake of confusion and chaos. He didn't know how to deal with what had happened to Sam but things had gradually been getting better. At least he had hoped so. His over-protectiveness of Sam had him wanting to hold his brother back from things that he didn't think Sam was ready for and Dean wasn't too sure if it was for Sam's sake or his own. He was so intent on _fixing_ things, he wanted so badly to repair the damage done to his brother. Dean had to eventually accept that he couldn't, that in the end they had to cope with the aftermath of rape together. It hadn't just hurt Sam, it had hurt Dean too. All in all though, Sam seemed a lot better than he had been nine weeks ago. It had given Dean hope that they really were going to be okay.

Then the kiss happened and Dean was body slammed back into reality.

His attraction to Sam though, at least Dean could pretend it didn't exist. After a while it might even go away.

Yeah . . . and Sam was still dreaming of candy canes and lollipops.

Back in the room, both men were just nibbling their food, neither one had much of an appetite, though it was for different reasons. Sam kept refilling his water bottle, trying to rehydrate his body from his impromptu drunkenness from the night before. Dean flipped on the television, finding an old horror movie, that Hollywood got so much information wrong never failed to amuse Dean so he sat back and watched it. Halfway through the looked over at Sam who was curled around the two pillows on his bed, watching to movie through half lidded eyes. Obviously, the medication was doing its work, not only keeping the pain away but keeping Sam completely sedated as well.

Neither of them had spoken much since Dean had come back from the diner, both laying in comfortable silence. Dean wasn't too eager to strike up a conversation. They yet to talk about Sam's insane declaration that he was ready to find another hunt.

The sun had set, wrapping the room in darkness save for the flickering light of the television and of course the bathroom light, the door was partly open now.

Then the television went off and they were plunged into blackness.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded strained.

Dean was already grabbing his flashlight (gun always immediately in his hand without a thought) from his bag and turning it on. He went over to the side of the window and peaked out.

"S'okay, Sammy, looks like just a power outage . . . diner's still on but the rest of the motel is out." Dean still triple checked the salt lines.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice sounded small and he turned towards him. Sam was sitting up, hugging a pillow to his chest and watching him with wide eyes. Dean sat on his own bed facing him. He wanted nothing more than to sit next to his younger brother and pull Sam into his arms, chase away the lingering fear in his eyes but Dean couldn't do that. It felt as though it would be putting Sam in jeopardy, Dean being so close to him.

"You okay, kiddo?" Dean nudged Sam's foot with his own.

Sam nodded jerkily, "It's just . . . I closed my eyes and when I opened them again it was dark. It reminded me of that night."

Dean set his gun on the night stand between the beds and held his breath. Just like every time Sam started to talk about the night he was raped (and lord knew Dean could still barely even think that word), Dean still had an urge to stop him. He didn't want to know the details, he didn't want to hear about what they had forced Sam to do, what had been done to him. At the same time, Dean did want to know, so that when the time came he could be sure to pay back those perverts with interest. Though Dean knew, however he felt, Sam would talk about it when he was ready and whatever information he chose to share with him, Dean would have to listen and support him.

After several minutes of staring at the floor clutching the pillow, Sam said, "It wasn't very late when I left, y'know. It was dark out though and I don't remember much after I left. I was just walking and I started to feel kinda weird. I felt sorta light-headed and dizzy and I think I fell . . . then there was somebody there. He lifted me up, asked if I needed a ride and I . . . I was just so tired. I was sitting down somewhere then and I swear, I just closed my eyes, for just a second, the next time I opened my eyes, it was dark, all dark, no street lights or anything . . . and . . . and . . . my - my clothes . . ."

The bathroom light came on.

Sam looked over his shoulder at the light a little startled, then looked back at Dean.

"That's better," he said, relieved.

Sam curled up on the bed again, as though nothing had happened. As though he had just been talking about something as inconsequential as the power outage.

Dean slid back on his bed, back against the headboard and flipped the television on again. The earlier movie was over and he settled on a comedy this time, hoping that it would alleviate the simmering rage inside.

They drugged him, they _drugged_ his baby brother. No wonder he couldn't fight back. All this time, Sam was feeling so weak and helpless and ashamed for not fighting his attackers when they fucking drugged him. Doped him up long enough to take his clothes and tie him up so he wouldn't be able to do anything but . . .

_God fucking dammit!_

Suddenly hunting sounded like a fantastic idea. If Dean couldn't find and beat the guys that hurt his brother to death, he sure as hell could kill something else. _Something_ needed to die. Dean slammed his fist into the wall behind him.

"Dean?" Sam looked him, sounding alarmed.

"Spider," Dean grunted staring at the television resolutely.

***S*S*S***

The rest of the night had passed quietly. Sam fell asleep soon after Dean's little arm spasm, the pain killers dragging him into slumber. Dean was awake for several more hours trying to quell the urge to jump in the Impala and drive somewhere, anywhere really, where he could get into a huge fight with some one or something. Partly because he couldn't get the image of Sam unconscious on the cabin's kitchen floor out of his head, and partly because if he got into some stupid bar fight, like he felt like doing, he'd most likely end up killing the guy. No matter how much of a dick some people could be, he couldn't justify killing some random dude when he really wanted to kill his brother's rapists.

Sam had another nightmare. Dean, not trusting himself to be in the same bed as his brother anymore, sat next to him, hand on his shoulder until Sam finally settled and slept peacefully again. Then Dean went back to his own bed.

Today, after a few hours of sleep and some nice gooey local pizza delivery, Dean was no longer about to kill or punch a few holes in the wall of the crappy motel. In fact, Dean felt pretty good since Sam was the one who went to the door and paid for the pizza without even the slightest hesitation.

That was likely the reason he didn't immediately freak out when Sam was on his laptop that afternoon, talking about looking for another hunt.

Currently, Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to not start yelling at Sam.

"You can't be serious," he muttered at the floor.

"Why not?" Sam said, sounding annoyed.

"Why not?" Dean stared at his brother in disbelief, "Gee Sammy, d'you really want me to answer to that?"

Sam huffed, "I know the last hunt didn't exactly go the way we expected but -"

"'Didn't go the way we expected'?" Dean barely managed not to explode, "Dude, you were molested by a ghost -"

"Yeah and I had some time to think about that," Sam interrupted, with a nod.

"What the hell is there to think about?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Calm down, Dean." Sam actually had the nerve to sound exasperated, "I think you're overlooking the big picture here. Okay, yes the spirit we took out was a pedophile. Yes, it freaked me out when he started pawing me but dude, listen . . . I didn't have a panic attack."

Dean blinked, staring at Sam disbelievingly, "Sam . . . you threw up, then I had to drag you out of a freezing cold shower. You not having a panic attack isn't really . . . I mean . . . God, how drunk did you get last night anyway?"

Sam sighed, "I had plenty of time to think before I got drunk, Dean. When I really do think about it, it could have been a lot better if Gerald Stewart wasn't the kind of spirit he was. If he was just some guy who was murdered and out for vengeance, I think I would have been fine."

Dean stood up, rubbing his temples, "I'm gonna need a little more than you _think_ you would have been fine. Besides that, you're still not comfortable when you're outside -"

"I'm getting better," Sam countered. "Look, I'm not gonna lie, I'm still messed up, still broken, I know that. The thing is though, I can _feel_ that I'm getting better. Maybe to you, not having a panic attack over what happened isn't a big deal, to _me_ it is. Going to the door for a pizza, yeah, that shouldn't be a big accomplishment for anyone but for _me_ it is. So, those things matter and tell me a lot about how I'm really doing."

Dean sat down heavily on the bed again, "Sam, I don't mean to downplay any of that -"

Sam held up his hand, "I know you don't. I know that you don't really understand what it's like for me. I don't blame you either, I know you're just worried about me, you're trying to protect me, just like you always have, I get it. I just . . . there are things I feel like I need to do now and I need to figure out who I am anymore."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked with a frown, "Who you are? This isn't some emo, finding yourself thing is it? You're not going to go off on a weekend hippie retreat, are you?"

Sam chuckled, a rare sound that Dean had started to live for, like the true smiles, the moments of real joy that lit up his little brother's face.

"Nothing like that," Sam shook his head. "It's like, y'know, when some one is raped, they're never the same person again. They just can't be . . . no matter how much they want to be." A sad look came over Sam's features, "I've done enough contemplation, I need to actually _do_ things."

Dean rested his head in his hands. He wanted to argue with Sam but he found he couldn't do it. Where did Sam get off sounding so . . . so well-adjusted? After what happened with Gerald Stewart Sam should be begging not to hunt ever again. Dean wouldn't even blame him.

There in lay the irony of the situation too. Dean would gladly leave the hunt for Sam's well-being and Sam would rather hunt than try to find some sort of semblance of normality in his life. Truth be told, Dean never really wanted Sam to be a hunter. Oh, he was proud of Sam, proud of his accomplishments as a hunter, proud of how skilled he had become. Dean _liked_ hunting with Sam, they made a good team, that wasn't the issue. It was just that, he wanted Sam to be safe. Even as his brother got to the same age as Dean when he started to join his dad on jobs, his father would talk about bringing Sam along, it made cold chill run down his spine. Dean tried to put John off the idea as long as possible, telling him to wait until the next hunt, and the next one, and the one after that. As always there was this urgency, this need, to protect Sam. To shield him from harm, from himself, from the very world. Keeping Sam away from hunting was like trying to keep Sam a kid, keep him innocent as long as possible, just let him be a child with no knowledge of what the dark really held. When Sam eventually found out, it was okay for Dean to think, as long as Sam was just doing research. Sam was good at research, research was safe. Just keep Sam away from the real hunt, keep him away from the monsters and the spirits and everything that would do him harm. It was inevitable, Sam would have to join in eventually.

There after, whenever Dean had to pop one of Sam's bones back into place, ice a bruised rib, or stitch up a deep cut, Dean died just a little inside. It killed him seeing Sam battered and bleeding, killed him to see his beautiful baby brother's body becoming just as scarred as his own.

And there are the impure thoughts again, lurking in Dean's mind and popping up and the most inappropriate times.

Dammit.

"Maybe it _is_ better to split up for a while," Dean mumbled to himself, it would certainly give him some much-needed distance so he could be Sam's big brother and not Sam's pervert brother.

"What?" Sam squeak interrupted Dean's thoughts and he looked over to see the blood drain out of Sam's face.

"What? No . . . I - crap," Dean got up and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, crouching down to look him in the eye. "I was just thinking out loud."

"You want us to split up?" Sam looked at him with the most heartbroken expression, it was like a punch in the gut.

"No!" Dean shook his head, "But, dude, c'mon . . . it was your idea to start with."

"I changed my mind," Sam stated, still looking dejected.

Dean huffed out a sigh, trying to make things right again, "It's okay Sammy, don't worry about it, just never mind."

"Is this . . ." Sam bit his lip, looking uncertain. "Is this because I kissed you?"

Dean stood abruptly to keep from falling backwards, "Kissed . . .?"

Sam looked up at him, the color returning to his cheeks in a pink blush, "I know I kissed you, Dean."

Dean turned away it was on the tip of his tongue to deny the kiss ever happened. Tell Sam it was just a weird, whiskey induced dream and hope to convince him. As much as he wanted to, Dean couldn't seem to bring the contradiction to his lips.

"I didn't remember when I first woke up," Sam explained from behind him. "I did remember later though. You didn't say anything so . . . I guess I just decided to follow your lead."

Dean turned around, "Sam . . . look, you were really out of it the other night."

"But I still remember it," Sam insisted, "and I remember, you kissed me back."

Sam had an odd look on his face. He didn't look angry, or disgusted, or even accusatory. He looked a little apprehensive, a bit curious and maybe there was a tiny, tiny bit of hope. All of which completely confused the hell out of Dean.

Dean stood there for a minute, hands at his sides, he hung his head, "I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam tilted his head to the side, looking perplexed, "Sorry? For what?"

Dean looked at Sam, holding out his hands, "I took _advantage_ of you."

Sam's jaw dropped, "You _what_?"

"You were drunk, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, "You were too drunk to know what you were doing and I was supposed to look out for you and instead I took advantage of the situation and did something I shouldn't have. It was a mistake and I'm sorry."

Sam ran his hands through his hair in clear frustration, "First of all, Dean, _I_ kissed _you_. Secondly, I knew exactly what I was doing. Yes, I was drunk, yes if I hadn't been drunk, I probably wouldn't have done it, that doesn't mean that I didn't want to, or that I didn't have control over what I was doing."

Dean's brow furrowed, "You . . ."

"I kissed you because I _wanted_ to kiss you," Sam stood up. "Look, I'm sorry that it made you think that you did something wrong. For the record though, the kiss wasn't a bad thing and I . . . I'm not sorry about it either."

Dean rubbed his hand over his face, "Of course you're not, I didn't think you should be. It was just a mistake, that's all. Sammy, let's just forget about it okay? We can pretend it never happened

Unexpectedly, Sam frowned, "I don't want to forget it, Dean. It . . . it _meant_ something to me."

Dean took a deep breath, "Sam -"

"If you say I was drunk one more time," Sam cut him off, "I swear I'm gonna punch you. Like I said, I kissed you because I wanted to not because I was too drunk to know what I was doing. In fact, I could prove that."

"Oh yeah?" Dean scoffed, "How exactly?"

Sam stepped forward, "I could kiss you again."

Dean stared at Sam, unsure how to respond. Was he serious, was he actually planning on another kiss? Even if Sam was going to let him off the hook for the first time, Dean couldn't let another kiss take place. He wanted to, God he wanted to but that would be incredibly wrong. Sam was still recovering from his trauma and anything that happened between them would certainly be taking advantage even if Sam didn't agree.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean attempted to brush it off. "Don't be gross."

Sam's eyebrows shot up, "Oh, so now I'm gross?"

"Dude, we're _brothers_ ," Dean reminded him. "Hello? Incest? Not to mention we're both guys. I'm not gay, Sam. I mean, I know you have your tendencies but . . ." He let his sentence trail off at the hard glare he earned from his brother.

After a few moments of silence, Sam sat down on the edge of his bed with a defeated sigh, "Maybe you're right."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, Sam wasn't finished.

"I mean, who's gonna want me anyway?" Sam said morosely.

"The hell are you talking about now?" Dean demanded, hating the self loathing that was creeping into Sam's voice.

"Face it, Dean." Sam stared down at the carpet. "I'm damaged goods. I mean, I always knew I was a bit messed up anyway, the way were raised but still, I could behave normally. Now though . . ." He made a helpless gesture and shrugged. "And in a few months, who knows? I could be diagnosed with - with . . . a deadly disease and that'll pretty much be it for me. I'll be a damaged, diseased freak."

"Hey," Dean snapped, "stop talking about yourself like that."

Sam looked up at him sadly, "It's true isn't it?"

Dean shook his head, "No man, none of is true. You're way better adjusted then I am and . . . you're stronger than me, y'know? If I had gone through even half of what you've had to, I think I would've offed myself already."

"S'not really the point though," Sam told him softly.

Dean finally moved and sat beside him, "Then what is?"

Sam shrugged again, "It's like the only person I can see myself letting my guard down around, is you. You're the only person I trust completely, always have been. The way things have been between us lately, I dunno . . . You make me feel safe and like I'm . . . " Sam blushed, "Like I'm the center of your world or something."

 _You are_ , Dean almost said out loud.

Instead what came out was a shock, even to him, "Look, if I kiss you again, will your forget all that junk about no one wanting you?"

 _Crap, why the hell did I say that?_ Who was he fooling? Dean knew why he said it. Not just because he wanted to but because he would always do everything in his power to make Sam feel better, to make Sam happy, to make him smile again.

Sam looked at him in surprise. Then he looked so hopeful as he gave a nod that Dean couldn't bring himself to backpedal. Nor, did it seem, could he bring himself to kiss his little brother. Not really kiss him anyway. Not the kind of kiss that Sam was expecting, the kind he really deserved.

Dean gave Sam a quick peck on the cheek and stood up, walking a few paces away, "There, feel better now?"

Sam looked perturbed, "You call that a kiss?"

"What would you call it?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"Pathetic," Sam snorted.

Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Pathetic?"

"Dude, my very first kiss was better," Sam smirked. "That's even after I cut my lip on her braces but at least I was kissing her on the mouth."

Dean fumed, he was still stuck on "pathetic". Nobody called his kisses pathetic, not ever.

"I guess I just expected more from," Sam gestured at his older brother, "'Dean Winchester', y'know?"

"Pathetic?" Dean repeated in a low voice.

Shrugging once more, Sam said, "Sorry."

Dean squared his shoulders, stalked over to Sam, cupped his startled brother's face in his hands, and closed the distance between their lips.


	30. A Kiss Is Just A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **. . . you guys are gonna be soooooo maaaaaad at me . . . .**   
>  **Look, Dean still behaving like a dumb ass for the first half of this. I have no control over that.**   
>  **But you guys . . . soooooooooooooooomad**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

All Dean was aware of before he kissed his brother was that his stinging ego. Sam had called his kiss pathetic and if Dean was honest with himself, it really was. He had just given Sam a peck on the cheek. Even Sam's drunken smooch had been better than that.

Still, Dean now had to prove himself. He had a reputation to uphold. Maybe he shouldn't have been concerned about what his little brother thought of his kissing skills but it didn't seem to matter.

The next thing Dean was aware of was Sam's lips against his as he cradled his brother's head in his hands. Suddenly, proving himself was the very last thing on his mind. This . . . _this_ was their first kiss, it was only the scent of Sam, without lingering whiskey and no room for confusion.

There was the tiniest voice in the back of Dean's mind that was trying to tell him that this was all kinds of wrong. Dean should just put a stop to it, now. Dean didn't want to hear that, not with the sudden tingling that was shooting up his spine.

In an effort to escape the voice, Dean moved to deepen the kiss. His tongue darted out and slid along the seam of Sam's lips, a silent request for admittance which Sam granted with a small gasp. The first brush of Sam's tongue against his own drowned out the voice with a sudden bolt of electricity. Mindful that he still held Sam's face in his hands, Dean brushed his thumbs along Sam's cheekbone and began a slow and gentle exploration of his brother's mouth. He felt Sam's hands at his shoulders, gripping them, then one hand relaxed and slid to the back of Dean's head, cupping his skull before Sam started his own, tentative, investigation.

Dean pulled back, changing the angle slightly before diving back into the warm cavern of Sam's mouth. Dean kissed him deeper, encouraging Sam's expedition, as he, himself committed the curves and contours of his brother's mouth to memory.

Then Dean felt, rather than heard Sam's soft moan and his body was flooded with heat. All he knew then was the scent of his brother, the taste of his lips, and warmth of his body. Sam arms were fully around him and oh, holy fuck, no kiss should ever, ever feel this good. It was just one kiss and he was still brushing his thumbs under Sam's eyes, Dean should still care about breathing at this point. All he could concentrate on was the feeling of Sam against him, the occasional gasps, of Sam chest pressing firmly into his as his back arched.

One of Dean's hands slid down Sam's side, down to his thigh. Gripping under his right leg, Dean pulled it up and Sam seemed to understand and wrapped his leg around his older brother. Dean grasped Sam's hip and ground his own against him, eliciting another moan from Sam and fuck, wasn't that the hottest thing Dean had ever heard in his life?

That felt good but it felt even better when Dean shifted enough to trap Sam's left leg between his own. Then he had Sam's ass in his hand and was encouraging Sam's virtual humping of Dean's leg, which Dean felt himself reciprocating, trying to get as much friction as possible from Sam's leg between his. If Sam's moaning was hot, Sam's keening made Dean feel like molten lava was running through his veins.

Feeling dizzy, Dean finally pulled back with a gasp. As oxygen finally flooded his brain, he took stock of the scene he was a part of.

He knew that when he first kissed Sam, he'd been standing. Or technically, he was bending over because Sam was sitting on the bed and Dean was standing in front of him. Now however, he was laying on top of Sam, with Sam's right leg over his waist and his left leg between Dean's.

Dean looked down at Sam's face, concerned on what he would find. Rather than Sam looking completely freaked out, like Dean feared, he just looked a little dazed. No . . . not quite dazed, Sam was flushed and panting slightly, his mouth slick and kiss swollen, his eyes half lidded and he was gazing at Dean with something like . . . awe. Of course, Dean's first clue that Sam was completely okay with what just happened was the hard-line of his sex pressing against Dean's thigh. Dean was equally hard and a part of him was wondering where all the delicious rubbing had gone.

After several moments, Sam breathed, "Well . . . that was . . . better."

Dean had a witty retort just waiting to burst out. Unfortunately, that tiny "this is wrong" voice choose that exact moment to start screaming at him and he rolled off of Sam. Now he was cold, like a chill had just passed over him and he felt himself wilt almost instantly.

Standing up, he rubbed at his face vigorously, "Okay, okay . . . that _cannot_ happen again."

Sam sat up, looking startled, "What? Why?"

Dean turned to Sam in disbelief, " _Why?_ You're honestly asking why?"

"Yeah," Sam said, looking confused now, "didn't you like it?"

Dean sputtered, "I - it's - didn't - that's not the point."

"Then what is?" Sam asked

Dean stared at him for a moment, "Well, for starters it - it's illegal."

" _Illegal?_ " Sam practically shrieked, jumping to his feet, "Are you really gonna play that angle, Dean? Practically everything we do is illegal. Breaking and entering, credit card fraud, digging up and burning corpses, impersonating officers of the law, the FBI, Homeland Security, I'm pretty sure that's a federal offense, grand theft auto, do you really want me to keep going, Dean?"

"No, Sam." Dean growled walking across the room, "Shut up."

"Besides," Sam folded his arms across his chest. "Incest isn't illegal in Rhode Island. Or in New Jersey if both parties are over 18 and in Ohio, it's only illegal for parental figures."

Dean looked at his brother incredulously, "How do you even _know_ these things?"

"It's called the _internet_ , Dean!" Sam shouted, gesturing at his laptop. "Look it up! That doesn't even matter anyway because what goes on between two consenting adults in no one's business and I don't think they go around arresting people for incestuous relationships simply based on the fact that it's incest."

"You know what's disturbing?" Dean held up a finger, "You actually _did_ look this up."

Sam shrugged, "I've looked up a lot of things on the internet, Dean. Some searches lead to other information that I end up reading anyway."

"What the hell were you searching for that would lead to incest laws?" Dean asked, "Sibling porn?"

Sam made a face, "No! Don't be disgusting, Dean!"

"Disgusting?" Dean's voice rose several octaves on the word, "This coming from my little brother who practically begged me to kiss him!"

"I never begged!" Sam interjected, getting right up in Dean's face, "You wanted to kiss me, you proved that when you kissed me back the other night."

"Yeah, after you tried to molest me when you were drunk," Dean spat.

Right after he said it, he knew it was a mistake. It was absolutely the wrong thing to say, he didn't need to see Sam's face pale or the liquid hurt in his eyes for Dean to know that he was being a dick. Worse than a dick, that was the most horrible thing he could have said to his brother, it was tantamount to accusing Sam of trying to rape him.

"Sammy," Dean started to say, voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't -"

Dean had to admit, Sam had one hell of a right hook.

For his part, Dean didn't even retaliate, he knew he deserved that punch to the face, a whole lot more, in fact.

"Why would you say -" Sam was struggling to get the words out, he looked beyond livid. "Why would you - how could you even say - I can't - I - I can't -"

Then Sam eyes went wide as he started gasping for air and in no time he was on his knees have a full-blown panic attack brought on by his own anger. Though there was probably also a fair bit of shock at Dean's words mixed in as well.

"Sammy!" Dean dropped down in front of his brother, guilt doubling, tripling as he was faced with coaxing him through another attack.

As Dean maintained eye contact, as always, holding Sam's hand over his heart, Dean inwardly cursed himself for being and insensitive, brainless piece of shit brother. It was harsh but Dean decided it was the truth. He couldn't even fathom why he would say such a thing to Sam, what the hell was wrong with him?

He just wanted Sam to forget about kissing him. Dean shouldn't have let his need prove he was a skilled kisser (and even better lover) override his common sense. Sam needed to forget the kiss, the heat, the friggin' dry humping. Dean only wished it could be that easy for him to forget.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean spoke soothingly. "Just breathe with me, c'mon, in," Dean sucked in a breath and when Sam did the same he continued, "and out . . ."

Sam recovered much quicker from his attack than before. He sat on his knees, looking a bit shaken but otherwise fine.

Dean brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes, "Okay now, Sam?"

Sam jerked his hand away from Dean's chest and pulled away from him. He climbed back into the seat at the table where his laptop sat.

"M'fine," Sam mumbled, not looking at Dean and sounding sulky, "I just wanna find another hunt and get outta here."

Dean hid the hurt that he didn't deserve to feel from Sam pulling away from him so abruptly.

Standing up he started to say, "Look, Sam -"

"Don't." Sam said tersly, his attention on the laptop.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, anything but quickly snapped it shut again. He had no idea what to say, he was completely out of his element. After several minutes of staring at Sam, he turned and picked up the duffel with the weapons and got on the bed, settling on cleaning the guns.

***S*S*S***

Sam sat in the Impala with growing agitation, waiting for Dean.

It had taken two weeks and a very near temper tantrum for Sam to find hunt to which Dean would agree. Two horrible, tense, and virtually silent weeks.

It was partly Sam's fault. After the fallout from the kissing they'd done, he was pissed at Dean. Not just at what he'd said, though that was a part of it, it was also because of how freaking stubborn Dean was being about the entire thing. He could forgive Dean for speaking without thinking, had forgiven him, in fact, soon after he'd hit Dean, it didn't mean he wasn't still pissed about it.

Now though, he hated to admit it but he'd being going about expressing his frustration at Dean in a very passive aggressive way.

That was really more Dean's style but since Dean typically wouldn't talk about it, Sam didn't know what else to do. So he didn't touch Dean and he also didn't allow Dean to touch him. Sam was pulling away from Dean at most casual touching, which was the only way he would touch him now anyway. It was hurting Dean, Sam knew that and he hated hurting his brother but he was making a statement. If Dean didn't want to touch him in "that way", then he didn't get to touch at all, didn't want him to get all confused and get his signals crossed or anything. Yeah, that was totally Dean's style.

Sam hated it. Dean was the only one he wanted touching him and it felt good when Dean touched him. He wanted to still be sleeping in the same bed as Dean, to curl up besides his brother where he felt safe. Sam wanted to breath in the sent of leather and gun oil and _Dean_ as he fell asleep and when he woke up. But he wouldn't crawl into bed with Dean after a nightmare and he woke up every morning alone.

Sam sighed miserably, watching the bar in front of him. Dean had gone in alone to interview some witness. It wasn't the nicest looking place, the clientele was a little sketchy at best so when Dean told Sam to stay in the car, Sam didn't even try to argue.

Sam was a lot better about being around people now. He went into most of the convenience stores and had finally gotten to the point where he could sit through a meal at a diner and not immediately bolt from the place when he was ready to leave. It was real progress. Though maybe it had mostly to do with the fact that his thoughts were preoccupied. All he thought about was Dean and the kiss and how Sam could get Dean to kiss him again. He didn't know exactly how to go about it.

He'd had two whole weeks to really think about things though.

Sam had never been the smoothest when he tried to pick up girls. Well, he never really "picked up girls" either. He supposed that was one of the problems. He wasn't too fond of casual sex. Sam didn't just want to go out and score with someone he'd probably never see again. Instead of picking up girls, he wanted to _meet_ them, get to know them, get their number and ask them on a proper date. That was how he operated. It's not like he'd never had a one night stand, he just didn't enjoy them that much. It was too impersonal for him, he was more about the connection with the actual person then the sex itself, sex was just better when he cared about who he was sleeping with. Then he was introduced to Jessica and learned that sex was fantastic when he loved the person he was with.

Sam loved Dean and he would be lying if he said his feelings for Dean were completely fraternal. He had nothing to compare the bond he had with Dean with but he always knew it had to be stronger than most brothers had. Sam wasn't stupid either, he'd seen the way Dean had looked at him lately. Sam should have found it disturbing, especially considering what he'd been through, he wasn't though, it just made him curious.

Dean meant safety, Dean would never hurt him. Maybe the first night it was liquid courage that gave him the boost to act on what he felt but he knew what he was doing. He just wanted to try it, to see if it made him feel weird or gross but it felt nice, better than nice when Dean kissed him back. That next kiss though, that kiss was electric. It felt like his whole body had been lit on fire. It was the best feeling knowing he could feel like that after he'd been assaulted. Not that Sam thought was ready to be intimate with anyone, not even Dean, he wasn't ready to go that far. But it was Dean that made him feel that way and he wanted to be with his brother and it was obvious that Dean wanted the same thing. Then Dean had to go all big brother protection mode and try to point out incest and homosexuality and generally be difficult about everything.

Incest didn't bother Sam, they were consenting adults and if they wanted to fuck each other that was no one's business. They were inseparable from the time Sam was born, all they had was each other growing up so what was going on shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. Sam also wasn't any more gay than Dean was. Sometimes, straight people could meet some one of the same-sex and want to be with that person, it just happened like that occasionally. You might never be attracted to anyone else of the same-sex but that one person and you could be happy with them for the rest of your life. So maybe, it was like that for them, maybe Dean was the one guy that Sam could be with.

Two weeks was a lot of time for Sam to think. He doubted that Dean was doing the same kind of thinking.

Sam sighed, wondering what was taking Dean so damn long.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought getting out of the car.

He didn't really want to go into the bar but he didn't want to wait in the car any longer either. He'd just go in and see what the hold up was, he wanted to get back the motel they checked in earlier, he was tired enough that the cruddy mattress would probably feel good now.

Stepping inside, Sam didn't move very far from the door. His eyes swept around the room and he spotted Dean. His older brother was talking to a pretty young redhead, she was laughing at something he'd said. Then her hand trailed along his arm giving him a look that clearly said she would gladly do him right there in the bar if he wanted to.

Dean turned his head and for the briefest second his eyes met Sam's. Sam only had a moment to recognize the look of surprise on Dean's face before he spun on his heel and stalked out the door again, feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut.

Once he was outside, Sam leaned against the outside wall for minute. Okay, fine, if Dean wanted to go back to sleeping with random strangers in bars, fine. He was welcome to it. He'd made it clear he didn't want to be with Sam, so Sam could give up on that now. He could stop thinking about it and stop wondering if he could get Dean to come around.

He wasn't good enough for Dean.

He wasn't good enough for anyone.

"Hey there," said an unfamiliar voice and Sam looked up startled.

The man talking to him was about Dean's height, shorter than him but he was broader in his shoulders. He had dark curly hair and was smiling at him in a way that made Sam's inner alarm system go off. The guy was obviously drunk and was looking at Sam in an appraising way and Sam didn't like it.

"Haven't seen you here before," the guy leered at him.

"Havent' been here before," Sam mumbled, looking across the lot at the Impala.

The guy nodded, "Buy you a drink?"

Sam shook his head and shoved off the wall, he just needed to get to the car.

"Hey," The guy blocked his path, "why in such a hurry?"

Sam started to feel nauseated, this was not good, not good at all. He couldn't do this now, he couldn't deal with unwanted advances from some drunk guy like this, it was too much for him still. Why did he get out of the car? Why wasn't there anyone else in the parking lot or outside at all?

"C'mon," the guy stepped closer, invading Sam's personal space, "Lemme buy you a drink, huh?"

Sam shook his head again, then was horrified when the guy stepped even closer, he was practically pressed up against him. Sam froze, like he normally did these days when some one got too close. The inner monologue of _can't fight, can't move_ already starting in his head.

"Pretty little thing like you . . ."

_Pretty little bitch . . ._

"Shouldn't be alone."

_It won't hurt so bad if you stop trying to fight it . . ._

The guys arm snaked around Sam waist and he wanted to fight back , wanted to shove the guy away, he just couldn't move. He was going to be sick in a minute though, then maybe the guy would let him go.

The suddenly the guy was gone and Sam stumbled back, almost losing his balance. He turned and saw Dean had him pinned against the wall, the arm that had been around Sam's waist was now twisted behind him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Dean hissed, cold fury in his voice.

"Sorry, man," the guy panted back, not sounding sorry, more like sarcastic and Sam knew this would not end well. "Didn't know he was spoken for."

"You don't touch him," Dean growled pressing the guy harder against the brick building, "you don't _touch_ him, you don't _talk_ to him, _you don't even look at him_."

"You should keep a tighter leash on your boyfriend, pal." The drunk guy whined at him, "He was practically begging for it, right here in the parking lot."

Oh dear God, Dean was going to kill the guy.

"Dean!" Sam tried to intervene.

Too late, Dean had already grabbed the back of the guy's head and rammed it into the building, it made a horrible crunching sound and the guy howled in pain. Dean let him go and he crumpled to the ground, holding his ruined face. He certainly had a broken nose but Sam wouldn't have been surprised if he'd lost a couple of teeth.

"You ever go near him again," Dean yelled at the pitiful sight before him. " _I will fucking kill you!_ "

"Dean . . ." Sam looked at his brother.

Dean started stalking to the Impala, "Get in the car, Sam."

He sounded exceptionally angry and Sam got into the car without protest. The ride back to the motel was silent, Dean was gripping the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles where white and Sam could practically hear his teeth grinding.

When they got back, Dean just marched into the room, not even looking back to see if Sam was following. Sam sat in the car for a few minutes after the motel room door slammed shut before going in. Dean was pacing the room, muttering to himself, still looking furious.

"Dean?" Sam said, uncertainly.

"Fucking had his hands all over you," Dean snarled, making Sam jump.

"I - I'm sorry," Sam said, not knowing what else to do.

He was sorry though, he was supposed to be able to handle things. That guy was nothing, Sam could have taken him out, no problem. It was just that when those situations arose, the froze up now. It was humiliating, actually.

"Don't start," Dean snapped at him. "Don't you fuckin' start, Sammy. No one has a right to touch you, get it? Nobody can put their hands on you without your permission."

Sam nodded wearily.

"Nobody touches what's mine," Dean muttered darkly.

Sam eyebrows shot up, "Yours? Since when am I yours?"

Dean looked at him sharply, "Since when?"

He advanced on Sam slowly and Sam automatically backed up. He wasn't afraid of Dean but instincts told him to back away, then he hit the wall. Dean got just as close as the drunk guy, though Sam didn't feel the same way about it. No, he was quite content having Dean in his personal space, especially with the fire in Dean's eyes. Sam shivered slightly.

"Since the day you were born," Dean said in a low voice. "You're mine, Sam. You've always been mine, you're always gonna be mine, never forget that."

Then Dean grabbed the collar of Sam's jacket and crushed his lips against Sam's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sadistic mode engaged.**   
>  **(so mad)**   
>  **XD**


	31. Crossing The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I have some rather bad news. Um, the chapters are going to slow down from here because . . . well, I've lost them. I've lost the boys voices. I dunno, I stopped re-watching the series for a while and then I started reading Drarry fics again . . . . so yeah. That and a lot of personal RL problems getting in the way. I've started re-watching season one to get them back. So after these next three chapters, if you don't get a new chappy for a while, just remember I _AM_ still working on it, it just might take a little longer.**   
>  **Okay, this first part is basically a recap of the last chapter only from Dean's POV. After that . . . Wincest. Rating hasn't changed so nothing graphic . . . yet.**   
>  **Cookies for those who knows the inspiration for the name of the bar chick! Kudos for anyone who *cheers* either mentally or out loud during this fic.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean was kicking himself - again, for kissing Sam - again.

The worst part was knowing that Sam had played him, plain and simple. Dean shouldn't have risen to the bait but he couldn't seem to help himself. Who was he kidding anyway? He wasn't so insecure that he couldn't have let Sam's words roll off him. What he'd really needed was an excuse to kiss his brother again and Sam had provided that by calling his kiss pathetic. It wasn't like the kiss wasn't pathetic but it wasn't _supposed_ to be anything, really. Just a peck on the cheek, it wasn't supposed to be great, just short and simple. Something to shut Sam up about kissing because they shouldn't be kissing and shouldn't have kissed in the first place.

Unfortunately, Dean had wanted to kiss Sam, he knew it, he was pretty sure that Sam knew it and when provided with the reason to redeem himself, he seized it. Like he just wanted to prove a point. Too bad Dean hadn't planned on the passion that went into the kiss. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Just a kiss, on the lips, slightly lingering and that was it. The moment Dean's lips touched Sam's, his plan shattered.

It seemed absurdly cliché but Dean had honestly never felt anything like that before. Not from something as simple as a kiss. Once they were kissing though, the only focus his brain had was, _more_. More of Sam, more of that feeling, more heat, more everything. Until the kiss stopped and his brain kicked back in.

Stupid brain . . .

Stupid logic . . .

Stupid genetics making him the brother of the only person that could make him feel like - like _that_ during a kiss.

Stupid Dean with his over active libido and with his big mouth and not thinking before speaking.

Sam had been giving him the cold shoulder ever since. The kid wouldn't even let Dean touch him, not that he could blame Sam. It was Dean's own fault for what he'd said and getting carried away by the kiss. It gave Sam all the wrong ideas. Dean couldn't even figure out how to get it into Sam's head that this "thing" between them could never, _ever_ happen. Saying things like "hey, we're brothers", or "y'know that part where neither one of us is gay", wasn't working. Did Sam always have to be so damn stubborn?

The not touching thing though, that was getting to him. Every time he so much as laid a finger on Sam, his brother would pull away. Dean couldn't stand it. You never know how much you need something until you just can't have it anymore. Dean felt the loss of physical contact like a wound, it was like it _hurt_ not to touch Sam anymore.

Dean wasn't sure if it was better or worse at night after Sam fell asleep. If Sam started to have a nightmare, then Dean could touch him as long as Sam was asleep. However, Dean couldn't give the kind of comfort he wanted to anymore. He couldn't curl his body around Sam and sooth him away from the nightmares, he had to just sit on the bed, one hand on Sam's shoulder, or brushing Sam's hair back. Simple things, things that would calm Sam but leave Dean wanting so much more.

Then there were his own dreams.

His nightmares about Sam disappearing hadn't gone away completely but they had become a little less frequent. Now he was dreaming more than ever but it wasn't about losing his little brother. Oh no, now it was dreams about expanses of slick skin and long legs and warm flesh under his fingers and hazel eyes. Dean woke up alone every morning which was for the best, really because it wasn't like he could have hidden the raging hard on he had.

Every. Single. Morning.

Dean concluded that he just really, really needed to get laid.

And not by his baby brother, for God's sake.

Sam kept looking for a hunt, kept pitching potential leads at him. Dean said no to each one. What was he supposed to do? Sam would tell him about the job and Dean imagined Sam on the floor of the freezing cold shower.

The last one, sounding like something in a lake drowning people, Sam was insisting that they check it out. Right, because Dean needed to be worried about Sam having a breakdown and drowning on top of everything else.

Sam got right in Dean's face when he'd said no to that one. Yelling at Dean and telling him to stop treating him like he was a ten-year-old looking for his first hunt. The only thing Dean wanted to do was grab Sam and kiss him hard and lick his way into Sam's mouth. That thought was so sudden and fierce he stepped away several paces and agreed to the hunt. He needed a distraction, a new town, a new bar, with women, lots of women.

Dean did end up going to a bar but not the type of bar that he normally picked up girls at. It was more of a rough and tumble sort of place. The only reason Sam was in the car with him was because he refused to be left behind and honestly, Dean didn't want to leave him.

Dean really needed to stop being so damn clingy.

Cassie Peterson was at the local lake when the last person drowned and was the only witness. She looked younger as long as you were at a distance. Close up you could see she wore a lot of makeup and relied on darker areas of the bar.

Oh, she was interested in Dean though, more than interested. Dean thought about it. He wasn't adverse to sleeping with older women. Women were women, after all and he really, really needed to get some. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd gone so long without sex. Really, one trip to a semi-private restroom with questionable hygiene with Ms. Peterson was all he needed. Sam was in the car, he'd be fine. Looking across at the redhead Dean knew he should go for it.

Sometimes, Dean could swear he had some sort of Sam radar. How else could he explain the times when he just _knows_ his brother is in danger, or when something's really wrong even when they're miles apart? Just as he's contemplating making a pass at Cassie (and _no_ , he doesn't think of his ex at all, it's just a coincidence) his eyes were drawn to the door like a magnet. Sam stood there, looking at the both of them, he looked a little angry, a little frustrated and more than a little hurt. Then he was gone again and Dean was left staring at the door.

It took him a while to realize that Cassie was trying to get his attention. Dean looked at her and she wasn't nearly as appealing as she was a minute ago. It was too much make up, too bright of light and now Dean could only think about Sam. Funny how he could almost fool himself into believing he had been thinking about anyone else all evening.

Dean excused himself, leaving behind a very confused Cassie Peterson in his wake.

Dean didn't know what he was going to do exactly. It wasn't very likely they were just going to drive back to the motel where Sam would do research while Dean tossed back a couple of beers, like old times. Although maybe . . . just maybe, it was time to stop ignoring what was going on because it wasn't going away any time soon.

As he stepped out of the bar into the cold night air, he heard voices and immediately saw Sam just a couple of feet away. He wasn't alone, some disgusting, drunk creep was hanging all over him. He had his fucking arm around Sam, _his_ Sam, while his little brother stood there, frozen solid like a block of ice.

It took maybe a total of a second and half for Dean to grab the guy's arm, twist it around, and pin him to the building. No one touched Sam, not without consent. Never. Fucking. Again.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Dean hissed at the guy.

"Sorry, man, didn't know he was spoken for." He actually had the nerve to have a mocking tone in his voice.

Dean's rage was steadily and impossibly growing, this dude was lucky Dean hadn't broken his arm, "You don't touch him. You don't _touch_ him, you don't _talk_ to him, _you don't even look at him!_ "

"You should keep a tighter leash on your boyfriend, pal. He was practically begging for it, right here in the parking lot."

 _The fuck did this maggot just say?_ Dean thought furiously, _Fuck no._

Dean barely registered Sam's shout of his name. He grabbed the back of the guy's head and bashed it into the building's brick wall exterior, watching, with only a tiny amount of satisfaction, as he fell to the ground, yowling in pain.

"You ever go near him again, _I will fucking kill you!_ " It was taking all of Dean's self-control not to kill the guy anyway.

Sam was looking at him, "Dean . . ."

Dean just started towards the Impala, "Get in the car, Sam."

It was a quiet and tense car ride, Dean fuming the entire way. All he kept seeing in his mind was that guy pressing his slimball body into Sam, into _his_ Sammy. Fucking hell, if Dean couldn't touch Sam, sure as hell nobody else was going to get that privilege. With Dean it wasn't a privilege, it was a goddamn _right_. Sam was _his_ , his to touch, to hold, to comfort, his to protect with his fucking life.

They got back to the room, Dean paced around like a caged tiger. Never again, never fucking again, no one was going to touch his brother.

Sam had come into the room after him, "Dean?"

"Fucking had his hands all over you," Dean didn't mean to sound so vicious towards Sam but he was just so pissed.

"I - I'm sorry," Sam looked ashamed.

 _Not fucking again_ , Dean thought, _Sam can't possibly blame himself for this._

Wishing he could reign in his anger, Dean snapped at Sam, "Don't start! Don't you fuckin' start, Sammy. No one has a right to touch you, get it? Nobody can put their hands on you without your permission."

Sam nodded, looking tired a dejected.

"Nobody touches what's mine," Dean said out loud, without thinking.

"Yours?" Sam looked surprised, "Since when am I yours?"

Dean's eyes locked on Sam. He practically wanted to shake the kid at that point. Didn't he remember their epic, super, estrogen-filled, chick flick moment in the car, the one time Dean practically bared his fucking soul to his little brother? They belonged to each other, even since before the fire, Dean realized now. He was going to make damn sure Sam would always remember it.

"Since when?" He practically growled at Sam, advancing on him until Sam was pressed up against the door.

"Since the day you were born," Dean told him, "You're mine, Sam. You've always been mine, you're always gonna be mine, never forget that."

Then Dean grabbed Sam's collar and pulled him forward into a fiery kiss.

It was so much better than he remembered, hot and wet and electric. The little voice in his mind was speaking up again and Dean firmly told it to shut the fuck up. Dean didn't give a shit anymore, he didn't care about genetics or preconceived notions of sexuality. He had never had some one's kiss light him on fire like Sam's did. He had never loved anyone as fiercely or as deeply as Sam. He had never needed anyone the way he needed Sam.

Sam's hand's were gripping his shoulders hard. He was kissing back with equal fervor and whimpered, fucking _whimpered_ , when Dean's hand threaded through his hair. He thought that Sam groaned afterwards before realizing the sound came from himself.

By now he was pressed up against Sam, against the door of the motel room. Dean could feel the heat of Sam's body bleeding through his clothes and it wasn't enough, not nearly enough contact.

Eventually, somehow, Dean managed to maneuver Sam to the bed while keeping their lips firmly connected.

It wasn't until he was on top of his brother that he moved his lips to Sam's jaw, to his neck. Dean vaguely recognized that Sam wasn't wearing his jacket, neither was he anymore, though they still had their clothes on and some micro brain function was still telling Dean, _not enough, not enough._

His hands slipped under the hem of Sam's shirts without Dean's permission. Although the skin beneath his fingers was hot and soft and fantastic, through the haze Dean could feel Sam's stomach muscles, diminished as they were, tense up and Dean heard a small, more fragile whimper from his brother.

"Ssshh, I got you," Dean whispered, lips at Sam ear. "You tell me to stop, Sam, I swear I will. I promise to stop if you want me to, I won't ever hurt you, Sammy. I swear I won't."

Sam didn't ask him to stop, instead he slowly went pliant under him, Sam's arms wrapped around Dean, pulling him closer. Dean silently thanked every deity he could think of and all the angels that he didn't really believe in because if Sam had asked him to stop, Dean didn't know where he would have found the strength.

It didn't matter though, nothing mattered except the fact that they were kissing again. Sam's body heat was scorching Dean's palms but he couldn't stop touching his brother's skin. They were moving together, against each other -

_Not enough, not enough -_

Rutting like a couple of horny teenagers -

_Not enough, not enough -_

All Dean wanted was more -

_Not enough -_

Even when he knew that he couldn't last like this, it had been too long and the keening sound from Sam was not helping the situation.

At the end, all it took was for Sam's body to go rigid under him as he let out a low moan into Dean's mouth. Dean came, still kissing his brother.

Afterwards, Dean couldn't seem to stop kissing Sam, like if they stopped kissing, the spell would be broken. It was different though. It wasn't desperate and vicious anymore. It was slow and languid, it felt like sated hunger, it was warm and tender.

The line was broken, there was no going back.

Dean didn't care.

He felt whole.

Like he was finally home.

***S*S*S***

Sam wasn't completely sure what had happened. It was like his brain stopped functioning the moment Dean's lips touched his. There was only one moment, when Dean touched him, that he got a little scared. Then Dean reassured him and it was fine and all there was after that was heat. Sam felt like he ought to be embarrassed that he was so easy.

When the kissing finally wound down, Dean moved to try to roll off of Sam. Fear suddenly gripped him and he held more tightly to his brother, burying his face in the crook of Dean's neck.

"Don't freak out," Sam pleaded, suddenly desperate, afraid that Dean reaction would be like the last time they kissed except much worse. "Please Dean, please don't freak out about this."

"Sammy," Dean said so quietly, in a tone that Sam couldn't recognize, so he looked at his face.

The expression there was so fond, so soft. For a moment, Sam couldn't believe it was Dean looking back at him. Though, if Sam really thought about it, Dean had looked at him like that before. The look was always fleeting but it was the same. It almost felt like Sam knew it from childhood.

"Not freaking out, Sam," Dean said softly.

Sam let him roll off then. They laid there, side by side, it was only a little awkward and Sam suspected it was a combination of what they'd done, and the quickly cooling sticky mess in both of their pants.

After a few minutes, Dean spoke up again, his voice still quiet, "I'm sorry," he coughed awkwardly. "About before, how I reacted last time . . ."

Dean just trailed off, seeming unsure of what to say. Sam reached out, found Dean's hand, and laced their fingers together.

"S'okay," Sam told him, for once he wished they didn't have to talk.

This was big though, monumental. They were going to have to talk about it. Talk about where they were going to go from here. At least it appeared Dean wasn't going to ignore what happened or try to end it right here and now. Sam felt himself smile at the thought they had done something and Dean couldn't pretend these feelings didn't exist anymore.

Hearing Dean take a breath, Sam spoke before he did, "Look, I know . . . we have stuff we have to talk about. I'm tired though and . . . well, I know talking is uncomfortable enough, especially for you. I think it can wait until morning when we're not feeling, so . . . uh, sticky."

Sam glanced over, Dean was still looking at the ceiling, his jaw was working though, like he was chewing the inside of his cheek. Probably trying to contain some nervous kind of laughter, it was Sam's best guess because he felt a little giddy and light-headed himself. The experience itself was euphoric but at the same time it seemed a little insane.

Enough of that though, they could deal with it later.

Sam let go of Dean's hand and slid off the bed, "I'm gonna get cleaned up." He looked over at his brother then impulsively, leaned over and kissed his forehead. He felt his face heat and he smiled shyly, feeling kind of foolish because this was _Dean_ , he shouldn't feel shy, "We'll talk tomorrow."

With that, he went into the bathroom. Once the door was closed, Sam couldn't be sure but he thought he heard a muffled, slightly hysterical giggle come from Dean.


	32. Back In The Saddle Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is really short and the talk they have is also very short but I tend to lose interest in fics where characters have a long drawn out battle with their sexuality (and in the case incest too), I figured, they've been through enough of that. So they'll deal with whatever problems that occur, they'll deal with them then. The last sentence seems really final but I promise it's not the end. I have one more chapter finished after this and then the updates will slow. Thanks for your understanding, I appreciate it and all your support.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Dean woke up first and was not at all bothered by Sam's presence in bed with him. Back in Dean's arms where he belonged.

The night before, after . . . well, after what happened, they took turns in the bathroom. Dean needed a minute to compose himself anyway. It felt like he was trembling inside. It felt like there was a bundle of nervous energy in his stomach. Dean wasn't freaking out though, like he thought he ought to be. He felt almost liberated in a way. He was no longer was afraid of corrupting his younger brother, or like he was wanting something he shouldn't.

Of course, all this meant that Dean had to accept a few things. That his little brother, broken though he may be, wanted _him_. Dean had, in a way, treated Sam like a confused teenager. Sam was an adult and though he was still in a healing process, he was still Sam. Stubborn, always knew what he wanted, would get it any way he could, Sam. So if Sam wanted Dean, he'd get Dean. Not just because Dean was always willing to give Sam the world either, Dean wanted Sam too.

However, Dean also had to accept that it would take some time for him to curb his instincts to protect his brother from every possible threat, included Dean himself. He was supposed to look out for Sam not want to . . . well . . . do the things he thought about doing with Sam, _to_ Sam. Dean would have to separate the part of him that _wanted_ his brother Sam from the part that wanted to _protect_ his baby brother Sammy.

They would have to talk about things today, as much as Dean was dreading it. Everything seemed so simple in his head. Everything last night seemed easy enough. After dry humping each other to completion (which was messed up and totally hot at the same time . . . kind of like incest if you thought about it) they just cleaned themselves up and went to sleep.

Well, there was that one awkward moment where Dean came out of the bathroom, Sam was already in his own bed and they just stared at each other for a minute. Finally, Dean made and gesture that was meant to ask if it was okay to get into bed with him. Sam had nodded eagerly and made room, curling into Dean's side immediately after he'd gotten in bed. Still a snug fit but Dean was used to it now. Sam had mumbled, "missed you", into Dean's chest. Dean had kissed the top of Sam's head (damn, Sam's girlyness was contagious) and whispered, "missed you, too" into Sam's hair.

Now it was "the morning after". Now they were going to have to talk and . . . share their _feelings_. Dean let out a groan, this was going to be a long day.

"Dean?" Sam sleepy voice interrupted his thoughts.

Dean looked down, brushed back Sam's hair and rubbed his hand up and down his back. He could simply not touch Sam enough. After two weeks of nothing, Sam was here, next to him, pressed up against him, Dean was going to touch Sam as much as possible, simply because he could.

"Hey kiddo," Dean said quietly, realizing after he said it that it seemed utterly bizarre to use such terms in regards to Sam after the shift in their relationship, yet it felt completely natural. "Sleep okay?"

Sam nodded, rubbing his eyes, "Mm, yeah."

Fucking breathy sigh and all, Dean was suddenly certain that Sam did those things on purpose.

"You mad at me?" Sam turned concerned hazel eyes to Dean's face.

Dean frowned, "Why would I be mad?"

Sam shrugged and looked around the room, "Just thought . . . with what happened yesterday . . . I know you . . . didn't want that to happen before."

"Hey, look at me." Dean told him and Sam complied. "Like I told you last night, I'm not freaked out, and I'm not gonna freak out. We gotta talk about this, yeah, I get that. So why don't we get up, get some breakfast and talk?"

Sam smiled and nodded, sitting up, "Yeah, okay."

Dean sat up too, "Okay, then."

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean turned towards his brother and Sam cupped the back of Dean's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Though he was surprised, Dean had no problem matching his brother's enthusiastic affection.

Then Sam pulled away abruptly and scrambled out of bed.

"First shower," he declared, laughter in his voice.

Dean shook his head as Sam closed the bathroom door behind him.

"Little brothers," Dean sighed, as laid back down and stretched out.

***S*S*S***

Dean had always taken the vantage point in diners and restaurants. He always needed to face the door because you never know who can be a potential threat. It was as habitual as taking the bed closest to the door in motel rooms.

Now though, he let Sam not only take the vantage point but let Sam make sure his back was to the wall. It made his brother feel a lot safer when he could keep an eye on the entire place. He still didn't like people being behind him. It was easier than Dean thought it would be to give up that spot. Though the fact that it was Sam probably made it so.

Sam still slumped down in his seat more than he used to, still tried to make himself small and inconspicuous. At least he didn't look as though he expected to be attacked at any given moment anymore. Though he did glance up from the menu so often that Dean wondered how Sam could read enough to order something.

After their orders were taken, silence descended on their table. Sam continued to look around the diner, eyes darting from one person to the next and Dean sipped his coffee wondering how much more awkward this would get before one of them said something.

"So," Sam cleared his throat, twisting his hands together on the Formica table top, "does this count as like, our first date?"

Dean had often envisioned his own death as a hunter. It usually involved a quick one liner, a lot of blood and some heroic self-sacrificing deed, taking as much evil as he could down with him. It had never involved choking to death on too hot, sub par coffee, while his younger brother continuously slapped his back.

"I'm fine," Dean wheezed, when he could breathe again, though he still kept sporadically coughing. "I'm okay, Sam, stop, I'm okay."

Sam sat down again, slumping further down, knowing they had just caused a scene.

"Sorry," he said, looking sheepish, "I had to say _something_ . . . "

After a long drink of water, Dean shook his head, "You were right, that _was_ something."

"I didn't mean . . ." Sam bit his lower lip, "I don't think this is a date or anything. It was a joke, y'know?"

"I know," Dean cleared his throat, "I get that. It just . . . caught me by surprise."

"Obviously," Sam blushed and looked away. "Dean . . . does this feel . . . _weird_ to you . . . at all?"

Dean sighed, once again wishing they didn't have to talk about this but it was inevitable.

"'Cause it doesn't for me," Sam went on before Dean could say anything. "I mean, I keep thinking like it _should_ feel weird but it doesn't. It's like everything is the same as before, y'know? Only different, like - like -"

Dean watched him struggle for a minute before supplying, "More?"

Sam looked at him, "Yeah . . . more." He made a face, "Does that even make sense?"

The waitress arrived and set a plate of eggs, bacon and sausage in front of Dean and waffles in front of Sam.

"There's really no other way to explain it." Dean said, spearing a sausage with his fork. "I mean, I look at you and I still see Sammy, my kid brother. Only now -"

"I know," Sam interrupted. "It's just weird how _not_ weird it is . . . I guess."

"I think the key is that you can't think about it too hard." Dean smirked, "I know that's gonna be hard for you."

After a moment of silence, while Sam picked at his food, he said, "Dean . . . I think we need to talk . . ."

"Which we're doing," Dean rolled his eyes.

"About the . . ." Sam swallowed hard, "sex."

Sam said the last word in an almost whisper. Dean was grateful he didn't have his mouth full at the time.

Dean took a deep breath, wiping his mouth with his napkin, "Right."

"Look," Sam spoke quickly, his whole face had turned pink, "last night, it was nice, better than nice, I mean it was really good. It's just, I don't know, I can't guarantee anything. I'm not really ready for, y'know, _that_ , y'know what I mean?"

Dean nodded, "I think I can guess, Sam."

Sam continued to pick at his food, then whispered, "Sorry."

"Oh for -" Dean dropped his fork, "Really, Sam? You're gonna apologize for _that_ now, too?"

Sam put both hands in his lap, he looked ashamed. Dean felt like a complete ass, he really needed to learn how to deal with Sam's self-depreciation without making him feel worse.

"Sammy," Dean said gently, "look at me."

Sam did, from under his lashes.

Dean frowned in concentration, "Dude, have you ever, y'know, been with another guy?"

Sam snorted, "Other then the guys that -"

"They don't count," Dean cut him off sharply.

"No," Sam shook his head.

"Me neither," Dean told him. "So, I think what the best thing to do now is, take it slow."

Sam looked away again before looking back at Dean, "I think I'm just kind of scared right now."

"Of what?" Dean asked, fearing the answer.

"Things . . . they're never going to be the same again," Sam worried his lower lip. "We're still brothers though, I don't want to lose that. I don't want to lose _you_."

"I know," Dean nodded. "I've been thinking about that too. I mean, the longest I've ever been with anyone has been a couple of weeks. You're right, things between us, they're different . . . look, Sam, if you don't want to, if you want to stop now, I think I could, I don't want to but I could. If we keep going though, after today, the truth is, I won't be able to go back to us just being brothers anymore."

Sam looked up and smiled slightly, "I don't want to stop either." He sighed, "I'm not really looking for romance and flowers, Dean. The thing is, I still want us to be brothers because we _are_ brothers . . . just now we're -"

"More," Dean finished for him.

Sam smile brightened, "Yeah . . . more."

Dean smiled back then after a moment he cleared his throat, "Are we done with the sharing and caring crap?"

"God, I hope so," Sam smile became a grin.

"Good," Dean went back to his breakfast, "'cause we've still got a job here."

"Right," Sam nodded.

With that the Winchester brothers got back to work. It wouldn't exactly be business as usual and there was probably going to be a lot of stumbling along the way. The brothers though, would deal with them as they always had, as they were always meant to . . . _together_.


	33. Trust Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> Banner by: reggie11 at LiveJournal 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So, Sam's having issues and Dean's trying not to push. Who's gonna break down and talk first?**   
>  **Anyway, I'm gonna point out here that Sam, naturally, isn't "over" what's happened to him. In some ways, he'll never be completely "over" what happened. Anything physical that happens between Dean and him is because of Sam's complete and total trust in Dean. I'm not saying they're gonna jump in the sack and start goin' at it like rabbits or anything. Just, they might go a little further, physically, sooner than would be expected.**   
>  **Just not in this chapter.**   
>  **I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, WB, CW, Kripke Enterprises, actors, or other affiliates there of. No profit is being made from this.**

Sam eyed himself critically in the motel bathroom mirror after his shower with a frown. He had gotten so . . . _thin_. The last time he was this thin was when he was a teenager and his body was growing faster than he could keep up with. Sam didn't like it then and he liked it even less now.

Once he'd gone to Stanford, he'd lost a little of the muscle tone he'd once had from all running, sparring and fighting he had done with his family. Since coming back to the life, over the past couple of years he'd managed to gain that back and a little more besides. Not enough though, Sam had been working on bulking up some more, hunters needed to be strong after all. Besides, it made him feel better and gave him more energy. Then there was the rape, the medications, the fatigue, the illness. He'd dropped so much weight so quickly, his muscles seemed to melt away. He looked like a scarecrow.

Sam wasn't vain or anything but, he wasn't oblivious to his own attractiveness. He might feel like an gawky, bumbling idiot around beautiful women but he knew that he was good looking. At least, he _had_ been. He felt like it was compensation for his social inadequacies. Sam hadn't been the friendliest person when he got to Stanford, a lifetime of trying to keep obscure too ingrained in him. Sam had felt awkward and uncomfortable when talking with his peers. He'd acclimated quickly enough.

Sam didn't have to worry about not being able to talk to Dean. He didn't have a problem talking to him, not really. Even about things that were more personal. So maybe being a big brother he was also more likely to make fun of Sam for something but Dean always knew when to draw the line. Dean may not be comfortable talking about emotional problems but if Sam really needed something like that, Dean would do it.

It had been a week since they actually sat down and talked about their new relationship. It was a basic talk, just laying things out in the open, short and to the point. Sam thought it had been the best course, after all, this was going to be a long-term thing between them. Whatever problems or issues occurred, they could deal with them as they went. It was better that way, he didn't even know how many problems might crop up along the way. Sam already knew he had a ton of issues to work through, issues that had never been present before. Dean was patient, Sam had forgotten how patient Dean was. Growing up, Dean had always been more patient and tolerant then their father had been, always willing to help Sam, guide Sam, and work with Sam. Not much was different in their relationship, their current relationship that had changed with Sam's rape, anyway. Dean's touch seemed more intimate than it had been. A hand on his wrist, at the small of his back when they walked. The best part was that Dean was still, well, _Dean_. He was still Sam's annoying, superior, older brother. He still played his music too loud, he still made snide comments about Sam's hair, and he still did and said things just to bug Sam.

The biggest changes were most prevalent when they were alone together. Even in the Impala, while Dean was driving, occasionally, almost hesitantly, he would reach over and lace his fingers with Sam's. That always led to Sam staring stupidly at their intertwined fingers for a few minutes. He recovered quickly enough, it was just so new and Dean had never seemed much for wanting to hold hands with anyone he dated. Not that Sam thought they were "dating" exactly, he didn't know what to call it. Sometimes, when Sam was sitting close enough in the car, Dean would put his hand on Sam's thigh. It would be brief though, just a slight squeeze. Sam felt somewhat bad because he felt as though Dean pulled back quickly as if he didn't want to make Sam uncomfortable, which he wasn't. It was _Dean_ , after all. He didn't say anything though. Sam never initiated these spontaneous actions either.

Sleeping in the same bed wasn't that different since they'd started doing that in the cabin. The beds were smaller and Sam sometimes wondered why they didn't just get a room with a single, king-sized bed.

The biggest difference was the kissing, of course. The two of them lay together every night, often making out like a couple of teens whose parents were away for the weekend.

That was it though. Since that first night, they hadn't done anything but kiss. Sam knew that was mostly on him. That first time happened mostly because of all the repressed emotion and attraction that came pouring out of the both of them. Sam enjoyed it but thinking about taking things further, or even doing the same thing again, it gave him an uncomfortable squirming in his gut. The thing was though, he _wanted_ to do more, and he just couldn't bring himself to say anything. Additionally, Sam couldn't bring himself to _do_ anything either and Dean wasn't a whole lot of help in that department.

Dean didn't want to push Sam and Sam wasn't inviting a whole lot of pushing. Dean would start kissing him and Sam would enthusiastically respond. Dean had found his sweet spot, well, his sweet spot above the waist anyway. Sam's neck was the most sensitive part of his body, besides the obvious. Dean found that out easily enough. A few well placed kisses and Sam was gripping Dean's shoulders, gasping and moaning. Apparently, Dean couldn't take that for very long, he always stopped as soon as Sam's hips started their involuntary motions.

It made Sam feel like a horrible tease most of the time.

He didn't want Dean to stop but he was too nervous to say so. Not to mention Sam didn't even know how to say it. Then there was the fact that at some point he would actually need Dean to stop. How was that fair? To get Dean going and then stopping him when things got to be too much for him.

Sam scowled deeply at himself at the mirror. He was contemplating how his body looked and feeling like a tease. Why did he have to be such a girl like Dean always said?

Sam dressed quickly, always layering his clothing. He still wasn't comfortable dressing in front of Dean, which was ludicrous. Dean had seen him already, Dean had seen the damage done by the people that attacked him (though the marks left behind were slowly fading), and he had seen how thin Sam had gotten after dragging him out of the shower. Sam didn't know why he still felt the need to hide himself from his brother.

Maybe he did know. There was still the underlying feeling of shame he had. It never went anywhere it just clung to him. It had lessened, like the feeling of filth, yet it lingered. It was shame that always made him feel the need to hide himself from Dean. Sam still felt ashamed of being raped, he felt ashamed of how he looked now. It made him nervous and made him second-guess this new relationship with Dean. How would he be able to begin a physical relationship with his brother if he kept feeling this way?

In addition, what if Dean always stopped himself from taking things too far was less about putting Sam at ease and more about Dean not . . . _liking_ him. Liking his body. After all, Dean was used to girls, soft, curvy, pretty girls. Sam was all boney and skinny and definitely _not_ pretty in any way. What if . . . what if Dean just didn't like how Sam looked?

A sharp knock on the door brought Sam out of his reverie.

"The hell, Sam." Dean's voice sounded from the other side. "Ya fall in? Let's go."

Sam sighed heavily and exited the bathroom. Just a week into this and he was already feeling insecure.

Why did he even bother?

A little while later he received his answer after he slid into the Impala. His brother reached out and squeezed the back of his neck gently before pulling out of the parking lot. Sam glanced over, Dean smiled at him with that same fond look he had, that look that was meant solely for Sam, and no one else got to see that except him.

Sam smiled back.

Yeah, this was why.

***S*S*S***

Dean stretched out on his stomach on the floor, a blanket between him and the old dirty motel carpet. He groaned in bliss as Sam's hands kneaded the flesh between his shoulder blades.

Dean hadn't been on the receiving end of one of his brother's massages for months. It was even more pleasurable than he remembered.

That could be because Sam was currently straddling him while using Dean's ass a seat as he gave him a rub down.

"Enjoying yourself?" Sam's voice had a distinct smirking tone to it.

"Less talking," Dean grunted. "More rubbing."

It wasn't until after the words left his mouth that Dean realized the suggestive nature of them. Sam paused in his ministrations.

"You know what I mean," Dean hastened to say.

Sam continued the massage, "I know, Dean."

After a few minutes, he paused again, "Dean . . . ?"

Dean stifled another groan, this one of frustration, he wanted this massage. "Yeah, Sam?"

He knew that after the talk in the diner, things were far from over. Life wasn't that simple.

Stupid complicated life.

Sam sighed and started kneading again, "Nothing."

"If you got somethin' to say," Dean muttered.

"It's nothing," Sam insisted. "Forget it."

 _Okay fine_ , Dean thought, _guess we have to do this the hard way._

Without too much difficulty but a lot of annoyed protesting from Sam who was bounced around a lot, Dean rolled over, under his brother. Then he grabbed one of Sam's wrists as Sam tried to slip off him. Although they were both wearing jeans, Dean was aware of the sudden contact of their dicks through the denim, though he tried to ignore it for the time being.

"What?" Dean asked, hooking a finger in Sam's belt loop to keep him from standing.

Sam looked away, "Nothing . . . it was just-" he bit his lip.

Dean huffed, took his finger out of the belt loop and curled his hand around Sam's waist instead as he sat up, then let go of his wrist so he could hold his brother more securely. Sam blushed deeply, that worried Dean a little because Sam tended to do that much more often these days. He didn't know if it was because of embarrassment or because he was ashamed of what they were doing. He didn't think the latter was likely, what with Sam's insistence on this aspect of their relationship but it was always possible that once they'd begun this, once there really was no turning back, Sam could change his mind.

Any thoughts he had about Sam having doubts fled in the next moment as Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and kissed him. Damn, but his little brother knew how to kiss. Sam wasn't above using that ability to distract Dean whenever he wanted. Dean was going to have to find a way to resist this talent of Sam's if he was ever going to be able to focus again.

Only . . . later, right now Sam 's tongue was sliding along Dean's. His body was warm and solid against him. It was a bit of an inconvenience that Dean's shirt was off since Sam's wasn't. He wanted to feel Sam's skin against his own.

Dean had learned something in the two weeks after they'd talked. Taking things slow sucked. Not that Dean couldn't control himself, he just really . . . _wanted_ Sam. He couldn't remember wanting anyone as much as he wanted his brother. Not even Cassie.

That wasn't even the worst of it. He didn't want to fuck Sam. Dean wanted to . . . ugh . . . _make love_ to Sam. He didn't recall ever having thought anything so girly and gay in all his life but it was true. Dean wanted to show Sam what it could be like, what sex between two people who cared for one another, who loved each other (and he did love Sam, even if it was hard for him to say in so many words) could be like. Which Dean knew was a strange way to think about it. Sam had loved Jessica after all so Sam had experienced sex and love.

However, had she loved him with the same level of devotion that Dean did? He doubted it. Mostly because Jess hadn't been the one to love and raise Sam since he was a baby. She wasn't there watching over him as he slept, to take care of him when he was sick and comfort him after a nightmare . . . talk about full circle. Dean had been there for Sam, always. Dean knew he was overly attached to his little brother and it bothered him a little. Not enough to want to change it. His happiness was connected to Sam's and whatever made Sam happy, made Dean happy.

Therefore, to make love to Sam, to show him how it could be between the two of them, to experience that level of intimacy and adoration, that's what he wanted.

He wouldn't push it though, not until Sam was ready. Now, he was learning how difficult it was. He pulled himself away from Sam a lot because once Sam started to moan, beg, and plead . . . Dean was just afraid he wouldn't want to stop. That he would take things too far before Sam was ready for it. Dean knew that if Sam told him to, he'd stop, he couldn't bring himself to push his brother beyond what he wanted, especially now. Knowing Sam though, he might not say anything, so determined to prove that he could handle things, that he was ready for things he really wasn't ready for. Dean couldn't let that happen, so he tried to keep himself in check as much as possible.

Right now, he was aware that he was getting hard as he kissed Sam. Before he could second-guess himself, Dean let his hands slip under Sam's shirt. Just as his hands met the smooth, warm skin of his brother, he felt Sam stiffen and pull away. Dean released him immediately.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, sounding tearful and backing away, clambering onto the nearest bed.

"Sammy . . ." Dean sighed, he got up and tentatively sat next to Sam.

"I'm sorry," Sam repeated, drawing up his legs and wrapping his arms around them.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean reached out and put a hand on Sam's back. "There's nothing to be sorry for. If anything _I'm_ sorry, I pushed you for too much -"

"No!" Sam looked at him, "You haven't done anything wrong, Dean. That's just it, I . . ."

"What?" Dean prompted him, "C'mon Sam, you've been trying to tell me somthin' all night, spit it out already, wouldya?"

Sam looked away, "Look, I . . . it's hard to explain." He lowered his legs and looked at Dean he seemed deep in thought.

"Sam, listen," Dean rubbed his back, "we both know that I don't like to talk about anything but I also know that, this thing between us, it's complicated as fuck. Whatever you need to talk about, whatever you have to say, you can talk to me, you know you can, right?"

Sam lowered his gaze and nodded, "I know, I'm just not sure how to talk about it."

"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "I know what you mean."

He placed a hand on Sam's thigh then almost immediately withdrew it.

Sam frowned slightly, "Dean, I want you to know, I didn't pull away just then because I didn't like what we were doing or because I was uncomfortable or anything."

"Okay," Dean nodded, a little confused.

"I trust you," Sam looked at him earnestly. "You know I trust you. I trust you with my life, you're the only person I've ever trusted completely. I . . ."

Sam suddenly blushed deeply and looked away.

Dean tried to catch his eye again, "What is it?"

"I like it when you touch me," Sam whispered, then took a deep breath, "I like it, I _want_ you to touch me Dean but . . . I don't . . . _look_ the same anymore."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, still partly stuck on, _I want you to touch me._

"It sounds so stupid, even in my own head." Sam told him, frustrated. "I'm . . . I've just lost a lot of weight, y'know? I know I don't look good -"

"Wait, wait," Dean held up his hand, "you think, what? That I don't . . . find you attractive?"

Sam blushed again, looking everywhere but Dean. He would have laughed but that probably would have bothered, Sam. Dean had just never imagined that he'd have to reassure his little brother that Dean was attracted to him.

"Oh Sammy," Dean slid closer to him on the bed, close enough to run the tip of his nose along the side of Sam's neck. "Do you have any idea," he kissed the side of Sam jaw, "how hot you are?"

He would have liked to said beautiful but that was a little too saccharine. Besides, Sam might not like "beautiful" in context to his looks, maybe it was too close to "pretty". Dean didn't know what those bastards had said to him but Sam had mumbled the words "pretty" and "bitch" during some of his nightmares. As much as Dean hated Sam's dreams, he was at least grateful for knowing what words to avoid.

Sam's eyes fell closed at the contact but then looked at Dean uncertainly.

"Dean, I know the kind of person you're usually attracted to," Sam started to say.

"Girls, Sammy, girls." Dean said, "I might give you a hard time about it but you're not a girl, your -" He stopped before he said "my brother" it was just so surreal that they were even having this conversation. "You, you're you and it doesn't matter, you're hot, totally."

Sam looked down, "So why do you always stop touching me?

Dean blinked in surprise, "Stop?"

"Whenever we're . . ." Sam bit his lip, "y'know, doing anything, you always stop."

"Sam, I don't wanna push you," Dean explained. "I need for you to be okay with what we're doing. You've been through a lot, we need to take things slow, and you need to be comfortable."

"I'm comfortable," Sam looked at him. "With you I'm comfortable. I trust you, Dean. You could never hurt me I know that. I'm not saying that I'm ready to start having sex yet. I know I'm not but, how am I gonna know what I'm ready for, how am I gonna know what my boundaries are without pushing them a little?"

"Sam," Dean let out a sigh.

"God, this is so typical of you." Sam grumbled.

"What?" Dean looked at his brother, a little startled.

Sam huffed, "I know what you're doing. It's the same thing with the hunting. You think I'm trying too hard, you think I'm trying to do things I'm not ready for. Well, y'know what, Dean? I think I'm able to decide for myself what I'm ready to do and what I'm capable of."

Sam lay down and faced away from Dean who stared at his back. It was surprising, he hadn't thought that Sam would want to do anything more than what they were already doing. Considering what his brother had been through, Dean thought it would be a long time before Sam wanted to take things further. Though the waiting sucked, Dean had prepared himself to wait for as long as Sam needed him to.

"I know it wouldn't exactly be fair to you." Sam said softly, "I mean, I'm not sure how far I could go with things before it would be too much for me, so it's not fair. I still want to though, if you don't, just say so. Just be honest on why."

Dean slid down and curled himself around his brother.

"Sammy," He whispered. "I don't wanna rush things, I want you to be ready, I want it . . . I want it to be good for you."

Sam turned in Dean's arms, looking into his eyes, "I want it to be good for the both of us."

"Look Sam," Dean sighed. "I want to do whatever you want, whatever you're ready for. If you want more, I'll give you more, I want to, I just need to know that you'll tell me to stop when you need me to."

"It's not fair to you," Sam whispered.

Dean shook his head, "Its fine, Sammy."

It _was_ fine, Dean was willing to do anything that Sam could allow. He would stop when Sam needed to him to. Sam was right Dean could never hurt him.

"Just promise me," Dean said, "promise that whatever we do, you'll tell me to stop when you need me to."

Sam looked at him searchingly for a moment. "I promise."

Then he kissed Dean, slow and sweet, "You don't need to stop right now." Sam whispered when he pulled back.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, okay," he said before kissing Sam again.


End file.
